


begin again

by herstoire



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-01-10 11:11:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 61,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12298038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herstoire/pseuds/herstoire
Summary: Joe is an art student. Caspar is a football player. They fall in love.And that's pretty much it.Sort of.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I kind of accidentally wrote an American college AU? Still not really sure how that happened.
> 
> Title from Taylor Swift.
> 
> **Warnings:** this fic contains references to a past abusive relationship (including flashback scenes) as well as some discussion of mental health issues. More than happy to provide further detail to anyone who feels they need it, just message me.

Caspar sighed and put his phone back on the neat white tablecloth, looking up at his date with a half hearted smile.

She was pretty and blonde, all long, tanned legs in her short white sundress. She was — well, exactly his type, at least physically. He couldn’t fault Alfie and Zoe for that. 

But appearances aside, this was proving to be his worst date in... well, maybe ever.

He’d felt a spark of attraction when he’d first seen her, sure, but that had quickly fizzled before the starters had even arrived.

She was a perfectly nice girl, he was sure, but she was just so... dull. She was a sophomore, studying Nutrition, and her conversation ranged from the pros of a carb, dairy and gluten free diet, to yogilates, to how Gwyneth Paltrow was, like, _totally_ a genius.

“It’s just all about, like, _wellness_ ,” she enthused, “like, being well _within yourself_.”

It wasn’t that Caspar was opposed to any of that, necessarily. He played college football, so he had to keep in shape, and even if he hadn’t, it would still have been something he enjoyed doing. And he’d also been trying to cut down on dairy recently. But that didn’t mean he wanted to discuss it for an entire _evening_.

As the girl — _Lily? Daisy? Definitely some kind of flower_ — started in on the wonders of healing crystals, his phone buzzed and Caspar looked down at it gratefully.

He’d texted Alfie about five minutes ago — after all, this was his fault (well, and Zoe’s, but it was much easier to take it out on Alfie than his sweet, well meaning girlfriend) and Caspar felt he deserved some help getting out of this situation. As boring as he may find — Daisy, he was pretty sure — he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

_Bro have u ever actually spoken to this girl before?_ Caspar’s text had read. He looked down at Alfie’s reply.

_Nah not really. She’s a friend of one of Zoe’s friends._

_Ok well it's really not going great buddy. I need to get out of this._

_Is it really that bad?_

_She’s been talking about healing crystals for the last 15 mins_ , Caspar quickly tapped out, adding _!!!_ for emphasis. 

He glanced up at Daisy, but she was still in conversation with the waiter, having called him over to ask about one of the dishes on the menu.

_Lol she’s hot tho right?_ Came Alfie’s reply, a few seconds later.

Caspar rolled his eyes. Alfie was no help at all, as usual. Sometimes he really didn’t know how Alfie had managed to end up with someone as great as Zoe. She was beautiful, funny and smart (he'd admit to having a bit of a crush on her when they'd first met — he now thought of her as more of a little sister, though she was actually older than he and Alfie by a year) while Alfie - well, Caspar loved the guy, but those weren't necessarily the sort of adjectives that he'd use to describe him.

He looked down to see another message. _Well if it makes u feel better I’m pretty bored tonight too. We’re at that student art show over at the livingstone building. I’m missing the game._

_Why are you there?_

____

Caspar had seen the flyers for the show posted around campus. It didn’t really seem like something Alfie would be into, though Zoe, who was majoring in Fashion with a minor in Business, was a bit more creative minded.

_Zoe’s little bro has some of his stuff on show here._

Caspar vaguely recalled Zoe saying something about having a younger brother who was studying art. He’d never met the guy though. Suddenly, he was struck with inspiration.

“Oh, shit,” he said, doing his best to call upon his somewhat lackluster acting skills (he’d been Sky Masterson in a ninth grade production of _Guys and Dolls_ , and... well, that was it).

“What is it?” Daisy asked, concerned.

“I totally forgot. One of my buddies has this big art show tonight, I promised I’d be there,” he said, feigning disappointment. “I better get going. It’s on the other side of campus.”

“Oh, yeah,” Daisy said, nodding in recognition, “it's in the Livingstone building, right?” 

Caspar nodded. The campus was big and the part which housed the arts buildings was pretty far from the restaurant they were currently at. He hoped the distance would put her off.

“Okay,” Daisy said brightly, “I’ll come with you!”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to,” Caspar tried. 

“No, it’s fine, I want to! I saw the flyers, it looks cool,” Daisy enthused. “Let’s go!”

Dammit.

 

*

 

 

Which was how, half an hour later, Caspar found himself staring in vague bemusement at a sculpture made out of empty matchboxes while Daisy chattered happily to one of the other guests. He’d texted Alfie that they were on their way over, but so far hadn’t received a reply, and hadn’t been able to find him and Zoe.

Thankfully, in the first stroke of luck of the night, Daisy had taken her attention off him, having found a couple with matching dreads and hemp pants who were a much more receptive audience when it came to the topic of healing crystals.

“Oh, god, yeah,” the girl enthused, “everyone is obsessed with clear quartz, but I find that, like, citrine is totally the best for balancing your chakra.”

“Oh my god, that is what _I’m_ always saying!” Daisy gasped. “I mean, I had my aura read after I tried it, and the difference was in-cred-ible.”

“Yeah, exactly!” The girl replied. “Oh, you know what, Brent,” she gestured at her boyfriend, “actually painted my aura as part of his final project! Do you want to come and see?”

“Oh, yes, that sounds great!” Daisy looked at Caspar. “Babe?”

“Oh, um, I think I’m just gonna stay here for a bit,” Caspar said quickly, “I’m just so... uh, into this.” He gestured slightly awkwardly at the matchbox sculpture. “I feel like I need to... absorb the piece a little more.” God, what the hell was he even saying.

But they all just nodded seriously. “Oh, yeah,” Brent said, “you can’t rush that, dude.”

“Okay, well, we’ll be right back!” Daisy chirped. She kissed him on the cheek and bounced away.

Caspar sighed in relief and took out his phone. Still no reply from Alfie. He was just about to pocket it again when he heard an amused voice from behind him.

“Kinda hard to _absorb the piece_ if you’re looking at your phone.”

Caspar jumped, startled, and turned to see a guy regarding him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Taking him in, Caspar felt his mouth go dry, because, damn, this guy was _hot_. Chiseled features, blue eyes and artfully tousled light brown hair that shone gold under the fluorescent lights of the gallery. 

Caspar licked his lips, trying to collect himself. “Well,” he said, “if I’m honest, my phone’s a bit more interesting.”

The guy laughed. He had a nice laugh, which made his eyes crinkle at the corners and his nose scrunch up in way that was, okay, a tiny bit adorable. 

“Not a big art fan, then?” He asked.

“Um. Not really,” Caspar said. “It kind of mostly seems like... bullshit?” He regretted his words instantly - what a stupid thing to say to someone in a place like this. He didn’t know what had made him so honest all of a sudden. This guy just had him off kilter.

But the guy just laughed. “You know, you’re kind of right,” he said. After what looked like a moment’s consideration, he stuck out his hand. “I’m Joe.”

Caspar took it, trying not to notice the way the muscles in Joe’s biceps flexed, or the spark of electricity that shot through him as he felt Joe’s skin against his. “Caspar,” he said. 

“Nice to meet you, Caspar,” Joe said. “So, what brings you here, then, if you’re not into art?”

Now that he'd had stepped closer, Caspar could see that Joe was quite a few inches shorter than him, and had to tilt his chin up a little to make eye contact. Caspar tried not to find it cute, and failed miserably. 

“Oh, uh, long story,” he said, “short version is, I was on a bad date, I tried to use this an an excuse to get out of it, but she ended up coming with me.”

“Oh, was that the girl who was here just now?” Joe asked. Was Caspar imagining things, or did Joe’s tone sound a little too casual?

“Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again.” He watched Joe carefully this time, thought he saw a flicker of interest.

God, he needed to chill. He was on a date with someone else — and even if he didn’t like Daisy, this was not how his mother had raised him. 

Searching for something else to say, he turned to look at some of the other art surrounding them. His gaze landed on a painting a few meters away. It was of a sunset over country fields, with a small thatched cottage in the foreground. Rather than traditional colors, it was all done in rich, burnished shades of red, orange, pink and gold.

“I quite like that one,” he said, pointing.

Joe turned to look and his eyes widened slightly. Caspar wondered if he should be embarrassed — he didn’t really know anything about art, maybe the painting was actually rubbish? 

But Joe just shrugged and said, “yeah, it’s alright.”

Something about his casual reaction made Caspar feel a bit affronted on the painting’s behalf. Sure, maybe he didn’t know anything about art, but the more he looked at the painting, the more he liked it, liked the way it made him feel — warm, happy somehow.

He said as much to Joe. Joe blinked. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted.

“Joe! Caspar!”

They both looked up to see Zoe making her way through the crowd, Alfie and — oh, great — Daisy in tow. After a second, Caspar’s brain registered that she’d called Joe by name, too, and turned to look at him in confusion. Joe was regarding him with a similar expression.

“I see you two have met!” She said happily when she reached them.

“Uh, yeah...” Joe said uncertainly. “I didn’t know you knew each other.”

Zoe looked between them with interest. “Yeah, we do. Caspar’s on the football team with Alfie,” she told Joe, “and Caspar, Joe’s my brother, I think I’ve mentioned him before?”

Looking at Joe, Caspar could see the resemblance now. They had the same eyes and nose, and both were on the shorter side (though to be fair, almost everyone looked short to Caspar).

Then, with dawning horror, he recalled Alfie’s earlier text. He and Zoe were at the art show because of _Zoe’s brother_. Because he was one of the artists. Who Caspar had just told he thought art was bullshit. Fuck.

“Um,” he turned to look at Joe, “about what I said before...”

Joe’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

“What did you say?” Alfie asked, suddenly more interested in the proceedings.

“He said he thought art was bullshit,” Joe announced, a bit too gleefully.

Daisy gasped. Alfie suppressed a snort.

Zoe put her hand over mouth. “Oops,” she said, but she was giggling a little. She looked at Caspar sympathetically as he stuttered.

“No — no, that’s not fair! I didn’t say that. I mean, I didn’t say that _exactly_. I—I said I liked that one!” He said, pointing to the painting he’d been admiring.

“Oh!” Zoe said, “well, that’s yours, Joe.” She looked at her brother. “Didn’t you tell him?”

Caspar turned back to Joe, who was studiously avoiding his gaze. “No,” he mumbled. There was a pink flush spreading across his nose and cheeks — fuck, he was blushing, and it was really fucking cute. And it was _his_ painting.

God, Caspar was really screwed.

“Anyway,” Zoe said, after regarding Joe thoughtfully, “sorry we missed your text earlier, Caspar, we were over in the east wing and the reception is really bad there. I just came to say we’re heading off. Joe, d’you need a ride?”

“Yeah,” Joe said, still not looking at Caspar. 

“Alright, let’s go!” Alfie chimed in, a bit too eagerly.

“Nice to meet you,” Caspar offered, a little lamely. Joe gave him a brief smile. “Yeah, you too,” he said, as he followed Alfie and his sister out. 

“So,” Daisy turned to him, asking brightly, “what shall we do now?”

 

*

 

 

In the end Caspar had sucked it up, taken Daisy home, and, as they’d stood on her doorstep, explained somewhat awkwardly that he didn’t think they’d really _clicked_. 

To his surprise, Daisy had taken it well. A little _too_ well, in fact.

“Well, _yeah_ ,” she’d told him, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m not an idiot, Caspar. I mean, I tried, but I don’t think we really have anything in common. Like...” she’d made a face, “you think art is bullshit.” Caspar had cringed inwardly. God, that comment was going to haunt him forever, wasn’t it?

So that was that. One awkward evening, no harm done. Right?

Right. Except, he couldn’t stop thinking about Joe. About his teasing smile, the spark Caspar had felt when they’d touched.

But had Joe felt that, too? He’d thought he’d detected a hint of interest, but the more he looked back on it, the more he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part. 

Sure, he’d seemed interested in the situation between Caspar and Daisy, but maybe he was just being polite. After all, he’d barely even looked at Caspar before he’d left with Zoe and Alfie. Maybe he wasn’t even into guys. Maybe he had someone already.

Caspar tried to put it out of his mind — and he was mostly successful. Between class and practise, the gym and the library, he barely thought of Joe. He'd even hooked up with a girl at a party and they'd gone on a couple of dates. Eva was a nice girl, and gorgeous, but it hadn’t really gone anywhere, and she’d ended up getting back with her ex-boyfriend.

It was only sometimes (or, okay, maybe a _little_ more often than that) as he lay awake late at night, that thoughts of football plays and essays drifted, slowly but surely, to thoughts of blue eyes and tanned skin, the way Joe’s hand had felt in his — the way Joe might feel against him, under him.

But that was all it was. He barely even knew the guy. This would go away in time. Right? 

Right.

 

*

 

 

It was Friday night and the locker room was buzzing, laughter and shouts echoing off the walls as the team made their way in from the field, talk turning to the weekend ahead. Caspar made a beeline for the showers before making his way back to his locker, towelling his hair dry.

“We’re gonna kill it against Midwestern, man,” Alfie was saying to Marcus, who was carefully styling his hair with as much precision as could be managed using the small mirror on his locker door. “We’re on fire this season.”

Marcus nodded in agreement. “Yeah, bro,” he replied somewhat distractedly, fiddling with an errant strand of hair.

“Have you guys seen Oli?” Josh greeted as he joined them.

“Nah, man,” Caspar said, “I saw him talking to Andrews earlier, though,” he added, referring to their coach, “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”

“Alexa just texted, she’ll be here in ten,” Josh said. They were all going over to Jack and Conor’s for pre-drinks before heading to a party at Theta Kappa Nu.

“You gonna be able to make it, buddy?” Marcus asked Alfie.

“Zoe and I might stop by later,” Alfie said, “we gotta go for dinner with her brother first. He just got this summer internship, apparently it’s a pretty big deal, we’re going out to celebrate.”

Caspar really hoped none of the guys noticed the way his head snapped up, and he tried to school what he was pretty sure was a way too interested expression into something more casual.

Josh, at least, was paying him no attention, tapping at his phone. “Oli’s not replying to my messages, gonna go find him,” he said, “meet you guys outside in five.” He was obviously keen not to keep Alexa waiting. Caspar was pretty sure there was something going on between them.

“What’s the internship?” Caspar asked, trying to sound casual.

“Apparently some big deal art guy from New York liked his paintings at the show the other week,” Alfie said, “offered him an internship at his gallery this summer.”

“Cool,” Caspar said. Alfie just nodded. Keen to keep the subject going, Caspar asked, “what gallery is it?”

“Uh, L... L something?” Alfie tried, brows knitting together as he tried to recall. 

“But it’s, like, a big one?” Caspar pressed. “What kind of artists do they show?”

“Yeah, it is,” Alfie said, “and I’m not sure. Like, modern stuff, I think.” Looking at Caspar a bit strangely, he added, “what are you, like, suddenly into art now?”

“Uh, no... not really,” Caspar said, “but, you know, it’s cool. Joe seemed really talented.”

“Right,” Alfie said.

Caspar looked away, pretending not to notice Alfie’s suspicious gaze. He'd thought, this past couple of weeks, that he'd done a pretty good job of putting Joe out of his mind — but, god, now just one mention of Joe's name and it was like all his hard work had been done.

It was pretty obvious now that this wasn't going away any time soon. So maybe he owed it to himself to give it a try — the worst thing that could happen would be that Joe would say no, right? And that wouldn’t be so bad.

Well, okay, no — that would be pretty bad. Still, though, he had to find out one way or the other. Surely Alfie had Joe’s number —

“Alfie —” he started.

“Guys!” Josh interrupted as he rounded the corner again, “I found Oli, he’s waiting outside with Alexa. C’mon, let’s go!”

“Yeah, I better get going too,” Alfie said, looking at his phone, “gotta be at the restaurant in twenty.” He looked at Caspar, “d’you say something, buddy?”

Caspar just shook his head, momentary resolve deflated. “Nah, was just gonna say, hope to see you and Zoe later.” _And please bring her brother with you._ He tried to think of a chill, casual way of phrasing that out loud, but Josh was already dragging him and Marcus away.

“See ya later boys!” Alfie called. “Don’t have too much fun without me!”

“We won’t!” Caspar called back. It was a well worn exchange since Alfie had started getting more serious with Zoe, and missing nights out as a result. But Caspar was pretty sure that this time, at least where he was concerned, it was actually the truth.

 

*

 

 

Joe wasn’t a big fan of the library. Not at any time of the day, but especially not at lunchtime on a Monday, when it seemed busier than at any other time of the week, full of students imbued with the kind of new-week-new-chance-to-get-on-top-of-my-studies enthusiasm that tended to wear off by, say, Wednesday.

It wasn’t that Joe didn’t like people. Actually, he considered himself a pretty sociable person. But all the noise and chatter was distracting, and Joe was at no time more easily distracted than when he was trying to study. 

Plus, on study breaks he usually liked to sketch, and apparently there was something about that made people forget their manners and stare over his shoulder at what he was doing. And while he’d gotten a lot more confident about his art over the years, it still made him feel self-conscious when anyone watched him work. Even Zoe.

This being the case, he generally preferred to study at one of his friends’ apartments (working in his own, at least when he was by himself, was a surefire way to get absolutely nothing done) or in The Black Book, the little coffee shop where he picked up shifts sometimes. There, at least the tedium could be broken up by chatting with Will or Arden, who both worked there most days, or one of his other friends who often stopped by.

If he absolutely had to work in the library, he preferred late at night, when it was quiet. His friend Dan, who didn’t like people very much at all — unless they were his boyfriend Phil — often accompanied him at this time. He was a worse procrastinator even than Joe, but they tried to motivate each other, even if it often devolved into arguing about video games or trawling through random YouTube videos.

“Joe,” Zoe said, and Joe’s train of thought was momentarily derailed as he blinked at his sister. 

Zoe was, in fact, the reason he was even here at all, since she’d agreed to tutor him in Math. Not that she was amazing at it herself, but she’d had to sharpen her skills since she’d started taking Business modules last year.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?” Zoe asked, in a way that suggested she already knew the answer.

“Uh, sorry, no,” he admitted.

Zoe sighed, but it was good natured. “I guess focusing for more than twenty minutes was too much to ask,” she said, “let’s take a break. Maybe coffee will help. What d’you want?” She asked as she grabbed her phone and stood. 

“Could you get me a black coffee?” Joe asked, already pulling out his sketchbook. He’d started working on something new last night and he’d been itching to continue it all morning.

He was deeply immersed when Zoe returned fifteen minutes later, clutching two coffees and a paper bag.

“I got us muffins,” she announced as she sat back down. “You need to eat, Joseph.”

“I do eat!” he protested.

She ignored him and carried on, “God, the queue was so long!”

Joe gave her an unsympathetic look. “You’re the one who insisted we come here at this time.”

Zoe, who was familiar with Joe’s late night study habits, rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well some of us prefer to be, you know, in _bed_ at midnight, rather than in the library watching videos of micropigs on YouTube.”

“Hey,” Joe said, vaguely affronted, “micropigs are adorable.”

Zoe just snorted and pushed one of the muffins towards him. Then she cocked her head and regarded him with a gleam in her eyes. Joe felt himself tense immediately, because _that_ look had never spelled anything good for him. 

When they were children, it has usually meant he’d be forced to participate in one of her dolly tea parties (though to be fair, she’d been a good sport about playing _Star Wars_ with him, too). Later, in their teens, that same look had resulted in him becoming a guinea pig for Zoe’s burgeoning talents in make-up. 

In more recent years, it had meant any number of things, the most memorable probably being the Christmas costume party a few years’ back she’d wanted them to go to dressed as the Grinch and Cindy Lou Who. She’d just been so _excited_ about it, and, well, Joe had never been good at saying no to people, his sister least of all.

“So,” Zoe started, and Joe braced himself for what was about to come. Maybe this was about another costume party. Halloween was still over a month away, but Zoe had always been the type to prepare well in advance, especially when it came to the holidays. 

He didn’t think he’d mind so much this time, actually, now he was out of his self conscious teenage stage and didn’t care so much about looking cool all the time. Though, she had Alfie for this kind of thing now, didn’t she—

Zoe cut into his thoughts. “Do you remember Caspar from the art show the other week?”

Joe, who had just taken a careful sip of his still extremely hot coffee, promptly choked.

“Oh my god, Joe, are you okay?” Zoe asked, alarmed. Joe nodded weakly, not able to speak. “Here, have some water,” she said, pushing the bottle towards him.

“Well,” she said, raising an eyebrow as he coughed and gulped down the water in an attempt to soothe the inside of his mouth, which felt a bit like it was on fire. “I’ll take that as a yes. Anyway, what I was going to say is that Alfie told me that after practice the other day he mentioned to the guys that you got that internship,” at this she smiled proudly at him, “and Caspar was apparently asking a lot of questions about it — and you.”

Joe took another gulp of water, hoping it would hide his embarrassing reaction to _that_ little bit of information. His diversion tactic was apparently unsuccessful, however, as he could feel his cheeks heating up — _for god’s sake_ — and Zoe was giving him an annoyingly knowing look.

With a final few coughs, he put the water back down and said, a little croakily, “I just want you to know that was a complete coincidence.”

“Sure,” Zoe said, “I happen to mention the name of the guy you were acting all flirty with and you start choking on your coffee.”

“Entirely unrelated,” Joe said, grumpily. “And I was _not_ flirting with him.”

“Oh, please, you so were,” she retorted, in a way not entirely unreminiscent of their childhood bickering.

“Wasn’t,” he muttered.

“You were,” she said, “anyway, Caspar’s a really nice guy. I’ve known him for a while. Maybe you guys could —”

“Zoe!” Joe cut in, “jeez, don’t get carried away. You’re basing this on absolutely nothing. Maybe he’s just, um... interested in art,” he finished lamely. He hoped Zoe didn’t remember Caspar’s little comment.

“I am _not_ basing this on nothing. I’m basing it on a lot of things.”

“Oh, right, well do enlighten me with your overwhelming evidence, then.”

“Well,” Zoe said, “firstly, he’s bi—”

“Zo, just because someone’s bi doesn’t mean they’re indiscriminately interested in everyone.”

“Yes thank you, Joseph, I’m aware of that,” Zoe said, rolling her eyes at him. “Secondly, he was _asking about you_. And thirdly, he is _not_ interested in art, don’t give me that, he told you he thinks art is bullshit!”

“Well, maybe he changed his mind,” Joe said, “after seeing, you know, the matchbox sculpture. That one was pretty good.”

“Or after seeing _Sunset_ ,” Zoe said. 

Joe swallowed. That painting had been his favourite of all his pieces on show that night, and the fact that, out of everything, Caspar had picked it out...

But it was nothing. Zoe was wrong. Caspar wasn’t interested in him. And even if he was —

“Joe,” Zoe said, now regarding him with a look he hadn’t seen very often at all. 

In fact, before the last few months, he was pretty sure he’d only seen it once, when he’d gotten sunstroke after playing soccer with his friends on one of the hottest days of the summer, come home and promptly passed out on the kitchen floor.

He’d seen it a lot more recently, after — well, after the break up.

“Joe,” she said, softly, “I know how hard it was, after Matt—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, quickly. Everyone had tried to, after — but Joe just hadn’t thought talking would change anything. It was already done, wasn’t it? He’d get over it, in time. 

And he _had_ gotten over it, hadn’t he? It was true, he hardly thought of Matt anymore. And, yes, okay, it had been nearly five months, and he hadn’t dated anyone since. But that was because he hadn’t wanted to. Because he hadn’t met anyone. 

“I know,” Zoe sighed. “I’ve kind of given up on that one. But Joe, maybe it’s time to, you know...” she paused, biting her lip, clearly trying so hard not to say the wrong thing, “... try again, maybe? I just — I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy, Zo,” he told her.

“But still,” she said, “maybe, maybe you could give it a try?” She looked so hopeful that Joe found himself nodding.

“Oh, great!” she said, brightening, “I have his number, I’ll text it to you!” 

“Zoe, no...” Joe tried, half-heartedly. 

“Oh, come on,” she said, “you don’t have to do anything with it! Just think about it, okay?” She picked up her phone. “There,” she said, tapping the screen with a flourish, “done!”

“Great,” Joe said, tracing his fingers absently over the open page of his sketchbook.

She regarded him skeptically. “Just promise me you’ll think about it? That you’ll think about, maybe, texting him? Please, Joe?”

“Okay, okay,” he said, reluctantly, “I promise.”

 

*

 

Joe had no idea how he’d ended up here.

One minute he was leaving his apartment to walk to his shift at The Black Book - and, okay, maybe he’d left like, an hour early — but he’d been trying to work on a new piece all afternoon and was getting nowhere, had thought that maybe a walk would clear his head — and the next he was outside the sports complex. Just in time for Friday evening football practise. 

Joe had heard Zoe mention enough times that she was meeting Alfie before or after practise to know roughly when it was. And the complex was on his route to the coffee shop — or, well, okay, maybe it was like, five, ten minutes out of the way, but he _had_ wanted to go for a walk. 

Still, that didn’t exactly explain why he was _here_ , did it? 

The thing was, he hadn’t really meant it when he’d told Zoe he’d think about texting Caspar. He hadn’t wanted to disappoint her, but honestly, he hadn’t been intending to do it, or even _think_ about doing it. Actually, he hadn’t been intending to think about Caspar at all.

Well — alright, so maybe he already had, a little bit ( _a lot_ , the little voice in the back of his head added helpfully, _you’ve thought about him a lot_ ) over the past few weeks.

But that didn’t mean anything, did it? It didn’t mean he was going to do anything. And it certainly didn’t, he thought, surprised by the little pang he felt in his chest, mean that Caspar was interested in him, had thought about him too. 

God, what the hell was he even _doing_? He shook himself, continued walking. After a few steps, he looked at his watch. Still over an hour to go until his shift started. It would take him maybe ten minutes to get to the coffee shop from here.

He turned back towards the complex.

 

*

 

 

Five minutes later, Joe had decided he was taking absolutely no responsibility for his current actions. 

He’d found a decent seat — decent meaning he was way up in the stands and partially obscured by a pillar, leaving him reasonably assured no one (meaning Alfie or, dear god, _Caspar_ ) would see him.

He’d done a quick scan for Zoe when he’d entered, ready to turn around and hightail it out of there if he spotted her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Looking around, he could see a decent number of people scattered about the stands. Most were students, though one or two looked a little older — probably from one of the local papers. The football team was reasonably successful, and though they weren’t big enough to attract any major news outlets, they were still often covered by the local press.

Slowly, the players begin to make their way out onto the field, beginning their stretches, the sound of their chatter just discernible over the low buzz of conversations around him. 

For a moment Joe wondered if Caspar would even be there - perhaps he was sitting this practise out for whatever reason — but the next he saw a familiar head of blond hair — a bit _too_ familiar considering he’d only met the guy once.

From here, he could see Caspar was laughing, saying something to a tall, ginger kid walking next to him. They were followed by the coach, who blew his whistle sharply, making Caspar and the other boy stop their conversation and look up.

As the coach shouted instructions at the assembled players, Joe thought about pulling out his sketchbook to pass the time, but quickly discarded that idea. Sitting by himself in the stands sketching seemed kind of weird.

He thought about leaving. But more people had filtered in as the practise begun, blocking easy access to the exit, and he didn’t want to attract attention to himself by having to slowly make his way out.

It looked like he was stuck here. Great. He sighed and pulled out his phone.

 

*

 

 

Another forty-five minutes or so later, Joe was decidedly bored. Even most of the people around him seemed more concerned with their conversations or with their phones than what was happening on the field.

Seriously. Joe was well aware that he’d made some pretty questionable decisions in the past, but this had to be one of the worst. Or at the very least in the top ten.

Not only was he bored, and uncomfortable (the seats were hard, and cold — it was like sitting on a block of ice) but there was no denying that what he was doing was, well, pretty damn creepy.

He’d spent the entire time hunched over his phone, messaging Britt, who was always willing to start a random conversation — and all in all, the only thing he had to show for the past hour was a sore backside, and a marginally interesting Whatsapp conversation about celebrity conspiracy theories (apparently Avril Lavigne had been replaced by a clone, who knew). 

When the coach finally blew the whistle to signal the end of practise, Joe didn’t think he’d ever been so relieved in his life. 

As the players started to make their way back to the locker rooms, the people around him began to gather their things and head out. As Joe waited for them to leave, his eyes drifted back over to Caspar (okay, maybe it hadn’t been completely truthful to say he’d spent the _entire_ time on his phone). 

Caspar was talking to Alfie, and Joe had a moment to imagine the sheer awfulness of them both choosing that moment to look up at the stands, before Alfie, squawking with laughter that Joe could hear even from here, tipped a bottle of water over Caspar’s head.

Shaking himself off in a way reminiscent of a Labrador that had just jumped out of a lake, Caspar pulled his now thoroughly soaked practise jersey over his head, and Alfie leaped away, still cackling, as Caspar attempted to smack him it. 

Joe felt his mouth go dry at the sight, couldn't stop his eyes from traveling over Caspar’s body — even from here, he could tell the guy was in pretty good shape. Make that _really_ good shape.

Then he shook himself. It was bad enough that he was here, basically _spying_ on Caspar like a complete, well, _stalker_ — but gawking at him like this, at this guy he barely even _knew_ for god’s sake, who had no idea he was even there... it was too much.

Cold, achy and feeling like a complete idiot, he waited, resolutely not looking at them, until Caspar and Alfie had headed off the field. 

“Hey,” came a friendly voice, “I haven’t seen you here before!” 

Joe looked up to see a pretty, dark haired girl regarding him with interest.

“Uh...” he said, “I haven’t been before.”

“D’you know one of the players?” She asked, adding, “Jamie — you know, he’s the center, he’s my boyfriend.”

“Oh, right,” Joe said, wracking his brain for a way to get out of the conversation, fast. The last thing he wanted was someone remembering him, and mentioning it to one of the team — especially Alfie, Caspar, or one of their friends. “Uh, no, I don’t know any of the players.” He winced internally as soon as he’d said it, realizing how weird that made him sound.

“Oh,” she said, forehead creasing in confusion, “you look a little young to be from one of the papers.”

“Um...” He scrambled for an explanation. “I’m from the college paper.”

“I thought Ryan was the sports reporter?”

“Uh, Ryan’s sick,” Joe told her, “I’m covering for him.”

“Oh!” She said, expression smoothing over. “Cool. I’m Lexi.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m... Graham,” Joe said, “uh, anyway, I have to go. Got a... deadline.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” she said, “nice to meet you, Graham! I’m sure I’ll see you around!”

“Mm,” Joe said, noncommittally. He was pretty sure that she wouldn’t. “Yeah. See you around,” he called over his shoulder.

He headed out, relieved he’d managed to escape without completely giving himself away, hoping fervently no-one would ever connect Graham, slightly shifty cover sports reporter, with Joe, Alfie’s girlfriend’s little brother.

His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out to see several messages from Britt. She’d apparently moved on from celebrity conspiracy theories to aliens. He couldn’t help but laugh a little to himself. God, he loved that girl.

He had a few more messages, one from Will about a movie night they had planned, and another from Zoe, which was an artfully taken shot of her dinner — since Zoe had, for reasons known only to herself, decided that Joe was a good audience for all of her aesthetic food pictures. 

In the beginning he’d found it amusing to reply with pictures of his least appetizing meals (takeout after a night out, instant mac and cheese, noodles and ketchup) but after a while, and since he’d gotten more into cooking this past year, he’d started messaging her back with his own equally aesthetic shots. Well, maybe not equally. Zoe was a master, and had the perfectly curated Instagram to prove it.

He scrolled through some of their more recent shots, along with a large number of random emojis (he couldn’t remember for the life of him why he’d sent her the eggplant emoji thirty times last Tuesday), knowing he was soon going to come across Caspar’s number. 

He bit his lip, remembering Zoe’s hopeful face, how he’d promised her he would at least think about it, even if he hadn’t really meant it at the time. Maybe he should —

_No._ This was ridiculous. He was acting like a crazy person. He needed to get a hold on himself, jesus.

He glanced at the time and winced — great, on top of everything else, he was probably going to be late for his shift. Quickening his pace, he scrolled back to his messages to Britt.

_Wanna go for drinks tonight?_

_Yeahhhh buddyyyy_ , she replied, a minute later.

There, that was that. He was going to go out and have a good time. A _great_ time, in fact.

And he wasn’t going to think about a certain tall, blond, stupidly attractive football player. At all.

 

*

 

 

It was a bright, cold Saturday morning, the sky a clear, cheerful blue despite the cooler temperature. Caspar pushed open the doors to the sports complex and stretched, enjoying the feeling of the cool air on his skin and the pleasant ache in his muscles signifying a good workout.

He’d dragged Josh to the gym early that morning, but Josh had left about half an hour ago, saying something about going to meet Alexa. Caspar was definitely going to have to get Josh to tell him what was going on there, because _something_ definitely was.

Stuffing his jacket into his backpack, he began the walk back to the house he shared off campus with Josh and Oli. It wasn’t long however, before his stomach protested, reminding him he’d had nothing that day but a green smoothie, several hours ago now. And that there was nothing in the fridge back at the house but several cans of soda, several bottles of beer, and half a container of takeout that had probably gone bad by now.

Okay, that called for a slight change of plans. He headed down one of the side streets just off the main campus thoroughfare. Along the small row of shops, he spotted a promising looking coffee shop, and made a beeline for it.

God, he was starving. His mind focused on the many possibilities for lunch — pizza actually sounded really good right about now, but it seemed a little self defeating after getting up so early to work out. Plus, this coffee shop had a definite hipster vibe to it, strongly suggesting the menu was probably less pizza, and more avocado — _oof_.

Caught up in his thoughts, Caspar didn’t see the person exiting the cafe until it was too late, and they collided. Hard. Trying to catch his breath, he winced as he felt several spots of hot liquid soaking into his t-shirt.

“Fuck, sorry, _ow_ ,” came a strangely familiar voice, and Caspar did a double take. 

“Joe,” he said, unable to suppress the grin spreading across his face. 

Then he grimaced as he took in the state of the other boy properly. Joe had on a snapback and glasses, which was probably why Caspar hadn’t immediately recognized him, and a thin sweatshirt which was — _oh crap_ — almost completely covered in coffee from the cup he was now holding at arm’s length, the dark liquid dripping down over his fingers.

“Caspar?” Joe said, wide eyed. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Caspar exclaimed. “That was totally my fault. Shit, are you okay —”

“Yeah — yeah, um, I’m fine.” Joe looked a bit like he’d seen a ghost ( _ha, ha, Caspar had heard_ that _one a few too many times_ ). Maybe he was like, in shock, from being burnt by hot coffee?

“Are you sure you’re alright? I’m really sorry —”

“It’s fine, it’s not your fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Joe said, making a face as he dropped his now almost completely empty coffee cup into the trashcan outside the door. He wiped his hand on his shirt, which didn’t really achieve anything, since the material was equally soaked.

Jesus. Okay, so after his failed attempt at getting Joe’s number — and after Alfie had, to Caspar’s eternal disappointment, not shown up that night to the party with Zoe and Joe in tow — Caspar had maybe been hoping he’d somehow bump into Joe on campus — it wasn't _that_ big. But he hadn’t meant literally.

“Uh,” Joe said, taking in the state of both of them, “you know, I actually work here. I have some clean clothes in my locker, maybe we could—”

“Good idea,” Caspar nodded enthusiastically, wincing slightly when he realized he hadn’t even let Joe finish.

He followed Joe inside. The coffee shop was mostly empty, a few students dotted about with laptops. The decor was worn and a little mismatched, but the place had a warm, cosy feeling. 

Caspar’s eyes, though, were drawn to the walls — which were packed, from floor to ceiling, with books. Some were so high up, Caspar didn’t think even he’d be able to reach them — but then he saw the ladders at the end of the shelves, like the kind you might find in an old-fashioned library.

The barista was leaning against the counter on her phone. She looked up as bell chimed above the door and her eyes widened.

“Oh my god,” she said. “What happened?” 

“Exactly what it looks like,” Joe said, ruefully. “Can I get back to my locker? We need to —” he gestured between himself, Caspar and their soaked shirts.

“Yeah, of course,” the girl nodded. She smiled at Caspar, “nice to meet you, by the way, I’m Arden.”

“Caspar,” he said, holding out his hand as they approached the counter. 

“Oh, _Caspar_ ,” she said, taking his hand, her eyes lighting up. “ _Really_ nice to meet you!”

Slightly nonplussed by her reaction, Caspar looked at Joe. Joe was glaring at Arden, raising his eyebrows in a way that was clearly meant to be significant. When he caught Caspar’s gaze, he looked away quickly.

Well, that was — hm, that was interesting. Was it possible Joe had mentioned Caspar to his friends? His heart did a little skip at the thought.

“What?” Arden said, looking at Joe with an innocent expression, “Zoe mentioned him!”

Joe pushed open the hatch that lead behind the counter, gesturing for Caspar to follow. “Oh, I’m sure she did,” he muttered.

But Arden was no longer paying attention to him. She was now looking at Caspar thoughtfully. “Hm,” she said, “hold on a sec.” 

She pulled out a rucksack from under the counter and began rummaging inside it. “Ah-ha!” she said triumphantly, holding up a small key. “Here,” she said, holding it out to Caspar. “It’s Will — my boyfriend’s — locker key. I’m pretty sure he has a clean t-shirt in there, which you’re welcome to, since,” at this she looked at Joe, lips quirking in amusement, “I don’t think any of Joe’s clothes will fit you.”

Joe rolled his eyes at her, but didn’t protest. 

Caspar thanked Arden, and Joe led them through into the small break room at the back. “Will’s locker is that one,” he said, pointing.

“Cool, thanks,” Caspar said. He slipped the key into the lock, and, after some fiddling, managed to get it open. Inside was a box of contact lenses and a textbook on film theory, resting on top of what appeared to be, thankfully, a clean t-shirt. Caspar started to reach to move them aside, but was distracted by a movement to his right.

Joe had pulled off his coffee-soaked shirt and was yanking another over his head. He caught a glimpse of toned, tanned skin and looked away quickly, his heart beating ridiculously fast. 

He realized he’d frozen with his hand halfway inside the locker, and shook himself. Thankfully Joe, who was now preoccupied with fixing his hair, didn’t seem to have noticed. 

Caspar quickly pulled off his shirt and replaced it with the clean one he’d found. When looked back at Joe, he was looking away, apparently occupied by searching for something in his locker.

“Done?” Joe asked, a few seconds later, turning back to Caspar.

“Yeah,” Caspar nodded, shoving his stained t-shirt into his backpack, “thank you so much.”

“No problem,” Joe shrugged. 

“Seriously, man, I feel bad. I totally ruined your shirt _and_ your coffee. At least,” he added, trying not to sound too hopeful, “let me buy you another one?”

Joe blinked at him, and Caspar immediately began second guessing himself. After all, what he’d said was completely true — why would the guy want to spend even _more_ time with him after that?

“Um. Yeah — yeah, okay,” Joe said. He gave Caspar a small smile. “Sounds good.” 

“Great!” Caspar said, trying to restrain the huge grin that wanted to spread across his face. He didn’t want to look crazy. Or scare Joe off.

They made their way back out to the main shop and joined the queue, which consisted solely of a guy dressed in plaid, and glasses similar to Joe’s (though Caspar privately didn’t think they suited this guy half as much).

“Yes,” Arden was saying, face expressionless, “almond milk is made with almonds. So you can’t have it if you have nut allergy.”

“Right, right,” the guy said, “what about coconut milk?”

“It’s made with coconuts,” Arden said. Her face remained impassive, but it looked like it might be a struggle to keep it that way.

“Oh, right,” the guy said, “I thought they were just, like, names, you know? Like soy milk.”

“Um,” Arden said, sounding as though she was having trouble getting the words out, “soy milk is actually... made with... soy.”

Caspar found his eyes meeting Joe’s, and he bit his lip, trying to suppress a giggle. Joe turned away with a cough that sounded a lot like a laugh.

“Oh, right,” the guy said again, nodding thoughtfully at this new information. “Cool. Can I get an iced tea?”

After spending several further painstaking minutes choosing a flavor of iced tea, he was finally done.

“Sorry about that, boys,” Arden said, smiling as she turned to them. “What can I get for you?”

“Just black coffee,” Joe said. “Caspar?”

“I’ll have a caramel macchiato, with coconut milk. And yes,” he added, grinning, “I do know coconut milk is made with coconuts.”

Then, abruptly remembering that he was starving — he’d momentarily forgotten in the excitement of seeing Joe again — he looked up at the chalkboard on the wall, where what looked like the lunch menu had been written out in an elegant cursive.

“And... the chicken salsa wrap.” He turned to Joe. “Have you eaten?” 

“Uh... no,” Joe said. He ordered without looking at the menu, and began feeling around in his pockets, apparently searching for his wallet.

“Don’t worry,” Caspar said, pulling his own wallet out, “I’ll get this.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to—” Joe started.

“Joe, shut up and let the nice man pay for your lunch,” Arden said, taking Caspar’s proffered card. 

“You really didn’t have to do that,” Joe said again after they’d sat down. “It was probably my fault, you know. I was a bit, uh, zoned out — I’m pretty hungover.”

They’d found a table by the window, overlooking the street. It had gotten busier, this being the time of a day on a weekend when students generally deigned it acceptable to finally drag themselves out of bed. 

More were beginning to filter into the coffee shop, and Arden had been joined behind the counter by a tall guy in glasses, who, when he’d seen Caspar, had nodded at him and said “nice shirt” — Caspar was guessing this was the previously mentioned Will.

“Honestly, it’s fine,” he said, carefully not adding that he’d would happily have bought Joe _ten_ coffees if it meant he could spend more time with him. 

_Play it cool_ , he reminded himself. He had been told, in the past, that he could come on maybe a little strong, and he definitely didn’t want to do that with Joe. Just because he’d spent the past few weeks thinking about the guy, didn’t mean Joe returned his feelings — though Caspar was, maybe, starting to feel a little more hopeful on that front. 

“So,” he said, “good night last night?”

Joe looked a bit — Caspar would almost have said _guilty_ , at that — but that was wrong, surely. Why would he look guilty? 

“Yeah,” he said, nodding, “nothing major, went out for a few drinks with my friend Britt.” He grinned, “she totally kicked the ass of this group of guys at darts. One of them made the mistake of saying he didn’t think a girl could beat him.”

Caspar laughed. “She sounds kind of awesome.”

“Yeah, she is,” Joe smiled.

Joe told him a few more stories about Britt, and some of the crazier nights he’d had with her and their friends, and Caspar rejoined with a few of his own. He mentioned going to Coachella the previous summer — and it turned out Joe had also been there.

After that, the conversation turned to music — Caspar wondered if Joe would be into exclusively, like, arty indie bands, but it turned out he apparently liked “everything”— which, after some further prodding, did turn out to pretty much true, and they discovered they both had a particular appreciation for old school hip hop.

Joe seemed a little reserved, almost shy, at first. He fiddled with the lid of his coffee cup as he spoke, kept glancing up at Caspar as if to gage whether he was still interested in the story. He seemed different from the confident, quick witted guy Caspar had met that night at the art show.

A little bemused at the difference, and not really sure he was reading it right, Caspar made sure nonetheless to laugh and nod in all the right places, to ask questions — in general, to show he was interested in what Joe was saying.

Which wasn’t hard at all, in fact, because he thought Joe _was_ incredibly interesting — and funny. Actually, he was _really_ funny, something which became clearer as the conversation wore on, and Joe became more animated, telling Caspar stories and making him laugh by embellishing them with voices and accents in places.

When Caspar mentioned visiting India a few years’ back, Joe’s eyes lit up. It turned out he loved to travel, and though he hadn’t managed to do much so far, he had a long list of places he wanted to go. Discussing bucket lists and top destinations, they discovered Asia was a big one for both of them.

Caspar asked Joe about his internship, and his art. And, well, honestly, he still didn’t _entirely_ get it — but he enjoyed hearing Joe talk about it, nonetheless. It was clear from the way he spoke that it was something he was passionate about, and if the little he’d seen of Joe’s work the other week was any indication, he was pretty damn talented as well.

Hearing Joe talk, it kind of made Caspar think, in fact, that _he_ still hadn’t found that thing — something he loved, that he was really good at — for himself. He had yet to declare a major — he was one of the only ones of his friends who hadn't. He had football, sure, and he enjoyed it, but it had never been something he’d seriously considered as a career, or saw himself continuing with after college. 

Caspar looked up to see Joe watching him. His eyes flicked down to where Joe was worrying at his lower lip. Hm. That was kind of distracting.

“Sorry,” Joe said, raising an eyebrow, “I’m probably boring you, aren’t I?”

Caspar frowned. Why would he be bored? “No... ?”

At his confused expression, Joe added, “I mean, you’re not really into art.” His mouth quirked up a little at one corner, and Caspar winced internally, guessing Joe was recalling that stupid comment he'd made the night they’d met.

“No,” Caspar said, “no — well, I mean, yeah, it’s not really my thing. But I like hearing you talk about it." 

Joe blinked. “Oh,” he said, “well... good.” His gaze lowered, and he seemed suddenly fascinated by his now empty coffee cup.

“So,” Caspar prompted, “you were telling me about that exhibit you wanted to see? By, uh, Moe-siri?” he said, stumbling over the pronouncation.

That made Joe smile. “Moshiri. Yeah.”

The conversation picked up again, and by the time Caspar eventually looked at his watch, he was surprised to see they’d been there over two hours. The lunchtime crowd had come and gone, and the cafe was near to empty again. Will had apparently left at some point, and Arden was once again leaning against the counter on her phone. 

“Shit,” Joe said, looking down at his phone. He seemed as surprised about the time as Caspar was. “Arden,” he called, “did Will say before he left if he still needs me for his project this afternoon?”

“Mm — yeah, he did say that,” Arden said, “but if you’re busy, I could tell him you can’t make it.”

“Well, who else is going to do it then?”

Arden shrugged, unhelpfully.

“Sorry,” Joe turned back to Caspar, “I promised Will I’d help him with a photography project last week, we’re supposed to meet at the park in,” he looked at his phone again, “ten minutes.”

“No problem,” Caspar said, trying not to look too disappointed. 

As they left the coffee shop, Caspar turned to wave at Arden, who waved back, grinning at him.

They walked down the block to the turning which led to the park — Caspar’s house was in the opposite direction. As they stood at the corner, there was a few seconds of awkward silence, and Caspar hesitated. He could feel a flush rising up his neck, the one he always got when he was nervous. God, why did he feel like this all of a sudden? For the past couple of hours he’d felt completely relaxed — talking with Joe felt like the easiest thing in the world, as if they’d known each other for years. 

But now — he bit his lip. Might as well just go for it. “It was really great to see you again,” he said, “we should... do this again sometime.”

This was the real test, after all. Maybe Joe hadn’t had as a good a time as Caspar had. Maybe he—

Joe, thankfully, saved Caspar further agonizing by nodding, “Yeah,” he said, “yes. That would — that would be cool.”

“Great!” Caspar beamed, “I’ll give you my number.”

With his number added to Joe’s contacts, it got a little awkward again as Caspar suddenly realized he had no idea what the etiquette was for their date-that-wasn’t-really-a-date. Fuck, why the hell was this so complicated? 

Refusing to overthink things further, he pulled Joe into a hug. It only lasted a few seconds — enough for Caspar to register that Joe smelled good, that his hair (which was tickling Caspar’s cheek) was really soft, and to hope that Joe couldn’t feel how fast his heart was beating — and then it was over.

“I... uh, I better get going,” Joe said, “I’ll — I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah,” said Caspar, and if he was nodding a bit too enthusiastically — well then, fuck it. “See you soon.”

He stood and watched Joe walk away for a couple of seconds, then turned and headed for home, unable to stop the huge grin spreading across his face. 

A minute later, his phone buzzed with a text from an unknown cell. It was Joe, texting him so Caspar had his number too. The message was a single ghost emoji.

_Sorry_ , came another a moment later, _couldn’t help myself :p_

Caspar laughed out loud, deciding the joke was definitely a lot funnier when it came from Joe. Not he was biased at all, of course.

A girl walking in the opposite direction gave him an odd look and subtly edged away as she passed him on the sidewalk, but Caspar couldn’t bring himself to care.

Not only had he seen Joe again, but they’d had a maybe-kind-of-date — and Joe had agreed to another one. Soon.

He grinned to himself. Best Saturday _ever_.

 

*

 

 

Joe was in the studio working on a something new when his phone buzzed.

It was late on a Wednesday afternoon, the shafts of sunlight streaming in from the high windows making the place — which was usually pretty chilly at this time of year — pleasantly warm. The unusually nice weather also seemed to have had added benefit of enticing most students outside, and it was almost empty, giving Joe space to spread out.

He looked up, trying to figure out where the sound had come from — he was on the floor, surrounded by cuttings of the comic strips he was, gradually and painstakingly, gluing onto two large canvases.

Eventually, he located the phone underneath several cuttings and gave the screen a careful tap — his hands were covered in glue — _message from Caspar_ , it read.

_HAPPY WEDNESDAY. Just thought I’d let u know that so far this week I have spilled coffee on 0 people!_

Joe grinned, shaking his head, before tapping out a reply.

_I think you’ll find that’s because no one walked into you and caused you do it_ , he replied, making a face when his typing left a smudge of stickiness on the screen.

_I've never been so happy to have coffee spilled on me tho, tbh,_ came the reply a few seconds later.

Joe blinked at the message. Ridiculously, he felt his cheeks his heating up. 

He bit his lip. _Me neither_ , he replied.

He put his phone down and attempted to return to his work, but was finally forced to admit, several minutes later, after he’d glanced at the phone the fifth or sixth time — still no new messages — that he really wasn’t getting very much done.

He looked away from the phone and down at the scissors he was holding — then retracted them quickly when he realised he was poised to cut straight across one of the comic strips, ruining it. Whoops.

Jesus, a couple of Whatsapps and he was totally losing the plot.

Still, when his phone buzzed again, he couldn’t help but grab it immediately.

Caspar’s reply was prefaced with a multitude of smiley face emojis. _Worth it then_ , it read, _so what are up to atm?_

_In the studio working on something. You?_

_Just got out of class. Kinda need to go to the library but I accidentally sat down in this really nice sunny spot on the quad and now I can’t get up, oops D:_

_The library sucks_ , Joe replied, adding several thumbs down emojis

_It really does. So what are u working on?_

_Not exactly sure what it’s gonna be yet. It’s like, mixed media. I’m using some old comic books from when I was a kid._

_That sounds cool! Which ones?_

And it went from there. Their conversation was almost continuous over the next couple of days, never stopping for more than an hour or two, when classes, or seminars, or Caspar’s practises got in the way.

Joe learnt, amongst other things, that Caspar hated getting up early (though he also thought that mornings were the best time to work out, so this combined with his nine AM classes was a constant struggle), that he was pretty sure his Econ professor hated him, that he spent much of his spare time watching documentaries about about almost every subject under the sun, and that he was surprisingly passionate about politics.

A lot of the time, though, it was a little bit like being messaged by an strange mix between a overexcited five year old (Caspar _really_ loved capslock — his messages sometimes made Joe feel like he was being shouted at, albeit in a happy, enthusiastic way) and a character in a bad romance novel. _The sky looks really blue today_ , one had read, _its totally like the colour of your eyes_. Joe still wasn’t sure whether he found that one embarrassing, hilarious or flattering (okay, maybe it was all three). 

All in all, Joe was fast discovering that Caspar — well, he was pretty fucking weird. But also that it was maybe, kind of, _really_ hopelessly endearing. 

And to top it all off, he seemed genuinely interested in everything Joe had to say — his messages were full of multiple exclamation points and emojis that felt kind of like the textual equivalent of the way he’d been that day in the cafe, the way he’d leant forward across the table like everything Joe said was so incredibly fascinating and important, the way he’d thrown his head back laughing like he thought Joe was the funniest person in the world. 

And as much as he hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t wanted to bring him into it, it had made Joe recall Matt, who’d been — well, he’d been nothing like that. Especially towards the end. 

It all seemed — well, it seemed almost to good to be true. At least, that’s what the little, suspicious, nagging voice in the back of his head was saying. Like he’d suddenly been thrown into a strange alternate universe this past week, one where his life was actually one of those those dumb romantic comedies Zoe was so fond of (and that, okay, he maybe secretly enjoyed a little bit too). 

But it was also — well, it was kind of great. Joe found himself smiling a lot more (was it more? It felt like more. Had he smiled this much before?) And despite that first admittedly unproductive afternoon, he actually found himself getting way more done when it came to his art.

His other classes, however — perhaps partly due to spending so many more hours in the studio — were suffering.

Which was how he found himself in the library at eight o’clock on a Friday evening. 

As usual, Dan was with him. They’d gotten maybe twenty minutes or so of studying done before before Dan’d had to look up something on Wikipedia for his essay, and after that they'd rapidly devolved into trawling through random articles.

They’d moved on to YouTube and were both engrossed in a video of dancing parakeet when Joe’s phone started buzzing. He looked down to see his contact image for Zoe, which was of her pulling a particularly unflattering face — still hilarious.

“Hey sis,” he greeted her, already heading out into the stairwell to take the call — though not before a girl at a nearby table gave him an incredibly dirty look.

“Hey, Joe,” she said cheerfully, “how are you?”

“I’m good,” he replied. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, great,” Zoe said, “I just had an interesting chat with Arden.” 

Oh crap. Joe _so_ did not want to have this conversation right now. “What’s that?” he said, “I can’t hear you. You’re breaking up. Hello?”

“Shut up, Joseph, I know you can hear me perfectly well,” she said, and Joe could practically _hear_ her rolling her eyes at him through the phone. “How could you go on a date with Caspar and not tell me!”

“It wasn’t a date!” Joe sputtered. “We just — we bumped into each other, it was completely random. I was hungover and I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I spilled my coffee all over him. I went to change into the clean shirt I had in my locker, and — and it was only polite to ask if he wanted to do the same—”

“Right, of course, you were just being _polite_. And then you _politely_ talked to him for like, three hours.”

“It was more like two and a half,” Joe said, grumpily. 

“Oh sure, that’s a big difference,” Zoe said, dryly. Then her voice brightened. “Honestly, though, this is really great, Joe! I knew — I just _knew_ you guys would get along! You’re going to see him again, right?”

Joe had to suffer through several more minutes of enthusiastic questioning before he finally convinced Zoe he had to go — she seemed skeptical, but honestly, he really _did_ have to get some work done at some point.

“What did Zoe want?” Dan asked when Joe rejoined him at the table.

“Um,” Joe said. He hadn’t actually mentioned Caspar to Dan. Or to any of his friends, in fact — something he was starting to feel a little guilty about, given the increasingly epic Whatsapp conversation they’d been carrying on the past few days.

“Well...” he started, hesitantly, “I kind of met this guy at my art show last month—” He stopped short when he realised Dan was looking at him, the expression on his face undeniably guilty — Dan was always pretty easy to read. 

“Oh my god,” he exclaimed, “you already know, don’t you?”

“Um. Kind of? Okay, yes, I know,” Dan admitted, sheepishly.

“Right... mind telling me _how_?”

“Hm, well, I guess that... Zoe told Arden, who told Will, who told Phil... who told me.” 

“Jesus,” Joe said, “what is this, six degrees of oversharing about Joe’s personal life?”

Dan nodded seriously. “There’s a newsletter and everything.”

“You’re a dick.” 

Dan grinned at him. “Sorry,” he said, sounding at least a little genuine this time. “So... are you going to see him again?”

Joe was fast becoming tired of that question. “I don’t know,” he said, snippily, “maybe. When I’ve decided, should I just issue a press release?”

“God forbid your friends actually, like, care about you, you dickhead,” Dan said. Joe stuck his tongue out at him. “But seriously,” he continued, “come on, Joe. Talk. What’s the deal?”

Joe sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know. We’ve been — well, we’ve been messaging a lot,” he said, smiling a little despite himself. “And I guess he wants to see me again.”

“D’you want to see him again?”

“I — yeah,” Joe admitted.

“And... he’s like, a good guy, right? I mean...” Dan trailed off awkwardly. Not like Matt, he didn’t say, but the words hung unspoken in the air between them.

Joe felt a familiar, unwelcome little pang of jealousy. Dan and Phil had met freshman year and been dating ever since, were pretty much that perfect, sickeningly cute couple that everyone made fun of, but secretly wanted to be. Not that Joe would ever admit to that. 

And he was happy for them, of course — they both deserved it. He just couldn’t help but think sometimes about how different it had been from his own experience.

“Yeah,” Joe said, “he is. Or, I mean, he seems like he is, I guess.” He’d thought that about Matt, though, hadn’t he, at one time?

“Zoe and Alfie know him pretty well, right?” Dan asked. He seemed to be thinking the same thing.

Joe nodded.

“So what’s he like?”

“He’s... uh, he’s really weird.”

“Oh, well, perfect for you then.”

“Fuck off,” Joe said, mildly.

“Nah, don’t think I will. And that wasn’t exactly a wealth of information,” Dan pointed out. “Care to elaborate?”

“Why?” Joe asked, blinking at him innocently, “you can just read about it in the newsletter.”

“Ha, ha,” Dan said, “you’re hilarious.”

“I know,” Joe replied, giving him an obnoxious smile.

In the end, though — he relented. Because, well... Dan had asked. And maybe he did want to talk about Caspar. A little bit. 

 

*

 

 

“Caspar, buddy...”

Caspar, who’d been grinning at his phone — he’d just received a particularly amusing message from Joe — looked up at Oli, and found his friend regarding him with a patient, long suffering expression.

It was Sunday afternoon and he, Oli and Josh were in the den playing Madden. Caspar’s attention, though, was only half on the game, and half (okay, maybe more than half) on his conversation with Joe.

“What?” He asked, nonplussed.

“How do I say this...” Oli muttered, almost to himself. “Listen... you know you’re one of my best friends, and I want you to be happy, but—”

Josh cut in. “But please, _please_ , for the love of god, could you shut up about Joe for one second?”

Caspar’s mouth dropped open. “I...”

“We can tell by the way you’re smiling like an idiot at your phone that he’s just messaged you again,” Josh said, “and I swear to god, Caspar, if Oli and I have to hear one more time about how,” he made quotation marks in the air, “ _hilarious, talented and really fucking hot_ you think he is, then we are officially kicking you out of this game!”

Caspar looked at Oli, and saw that he was nodding in agreement. 

“I—I wasn’t going to say anything!” He protested. Because it was true (well, okay, maybe he’d been going to _mention_ Joe’s message, but like... briefly. In passing.)

“Sure you weren’t,” said Oli, but he looked far from convinced.

Caspar sat back in his seat, feeling a bit shocked. He hadn’t been _that_ bad, had he?

“Uh, sorry,” he said, sheepishly. “I just — y’know, I really like him.”

“Yeah,” Josh said, “we know, dude. And that’s great, honestly it is. But we don’t want to hear about it every second of the day. Or every time Joe messages you. Which is basically the same thing.”

They resumed the game, and Caspar tried to focus, but after a few minutes again found himself distracted — this time by the fact that he’d apparently been driving with his best friends crazy without realising it. 

He thought back over the past several days, recalling a few conversations — and then a few more. He winced. Okay, so maybe he _had_ mentioned Joe quite a lot. Oops.

He pulled out his phone again, ignoring the knowing looks he was receiving from Josh and Oli, and opened Whatsapp.

_So my friends are pretty pissed off at me_ , he typed. A couple of seconds later, the dots appeared on Joe’s side of the conversation, followed by a reply.

_Why?_

_Well, it’s kind of ur fault actually... they said I won’t shut up about u and it’s getting annoying._

_Oh _, Joe replied, and Caspar had a moment to wonder if that had been a bit too much, before another message popped up.__

____

____

_Yeah, sorry about that. Happens all the time. I'm constantly alienating people from their friends cause they can’t shut up about how great I am_ , he’d written, followed by several crying laughing emojis. 

Caspar snorted. Then, grinning, he replied, _So... definitely all ur fault then. I think ur gonna have to make it up to me._

_Hmmm, am I? And how am I gonna do that?_

_By going on a date with me._

_Oh really?_

_Yep. It’s the only way. Sorry, I don’t make the rules._

_Oh I see. Guess I’ll have to then, since I don’t have a choice and all._

_Nope, sorry, you really don’t._

_Too bad_. There was a pause of a few seconds, and then another message appeared. _So when’s this date happening?_

Caspar paused, mentally going through his schedule for the next few days. _Are you free Thursday night?_

_Could be_ , came the reply.

_Well if you are, I could pick you up at 7..._

_Guess I’ll see you at 7 on Thursday then._

_Looking forward to it_ , Caspar replied, adding a couple of smiley faces.

With a satisfied smile, he put the down the phone and picked up his controller, resolving to focus his attention at least for a little while on his currently pretty tragic score

Despite his best efforts, however, he ended up losing spectacularly twenty minutes later. 

He threw a couch cushion at Josh, who was crowing obnoxiously at his victory — Oli had lost, too, though not as badly as Caspar — but found that he couldn’t really bring himself to care all that much. 

Which was, obviously, because he had matured and become a better loser since they’d last played... two days ago. 

And absolutely nothing at all to do with the fact that his mind was already on Joe again. 

 

*

 

 

It was five minutes to seven on Thursday night as Caspar made his way up Joe’s street, looking down to double check Google Maps on his phone. Yep, this was the place. 

It was a small, old fashioned looking apartment building. It looked a little rundown, but in a kind of charming way, ivy climbing up the red brick walls and curling over some of the windowsills.

It didn’t have a lift, Caspar discovered when he entered, but Joe’s apartment was only on the third floor. He found number 33 and knocked on the door, running a quick hand through his hair.

The door opened to reveal a brunette girl in glasses. She smiled when she saw him. “Hey, you must be Caspar. Nice to meet you, I’m Britt,” she said, sticking out a hand. The other was holding a bottle of beer.

“Nice to meet you, Britt.”

“Joe!” She called. “Caspar’s here!”

“What?” 

“I said, Caspar’s here!”

There was a muffled reply, which Caspar couldn’t make out, and a few seconds later, Joe appeared in the hall. 

Caspar’s eyes widened — because Joe, well, Joe always looked good — but tonight, he was fucking irresistible. His shirt fitted him closely, the sleeves rolled up and the first few buttons undone, revealing several tantalising inches of golden skin, seeming almost to glow against the bright white of the material.

“You look,” Caspar said, swallowing, “really good.” He wondered how he was going to be able to concentrate for the rest of the night, with Joe looking like that. God, it really wasn’t fair.

Joe smiled, his cheeks going a little pink. “You look good, too,” he said, his eyes sweeping up and down Caspar’s body in a way that looked distinctly appreciative (well, Caspar definitely appreciated it, anyway).

The moment was interrupted by a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and Caspar realized with a start that Britt was still in the room.

“Well,” she said, “now that we’ve established that everyone looks good, don’t you guys have somewhere to be?”

“Uh... yeah,” Caspar said, still a little slow. He looked at Joe. “You ready to go?”

Joe nodded, following him out the door. “Later, weirdo,” he called over his shoulder to Britt.

“See ya, buddy! And bye, Caspar, great to meet you!”

“You too!”

As they walked to the restaurant, they caught up on what had been happening since they’d last spoken — though, admittedly, it hadn't been very long. Joe showed him some pictures on his phone of his comic strip project, still a work in progress, which Caspar thought looked really cool. They talked a little about classes, what Caspar thought he might major in — he really didn’t have any idea — and Joe attempted to explain his end of year project.

“It’s supposed be about, like, exploring visual language, and finding techniques which express our lived experience and personal vision. Basically," he added, at Caspar's blank expression, “the main bit is creating a piece that represents an important experience in our lives from the past year.”

Caspar tried to imagine what that might entail. “What, like anything?” He asked.

Joe shrugged. “Pretty much. I mean, the central piece can be any medium we want. I've got the first meeting with my faculty advisor next week, and I still have no idea what I'm gonna do. I mean, it’s not due ‘til next semester, but it’s a big part of my overall grade for the year.”

“I guess you can’t just like, cover something in photos.”

Joe laughed. “Yeah, maybe I could just submit my Instagram. Or, actually, Zoe’s — it’s way better than mine.”

They arrived at the restaurant Caspar had picked — it definitely wasn’t the fanciest place in town, but he didn’t think Joe would be particularly into that, and this place was one of his favorites. Though, he actually didn’t think he’d ever brought a date here before. He gave the name to the hostess and she checked her computer, before looking up at him again. “Could you spell that for me, sir?”

“Uh, sure... L-E-E.”

She looked back at the screen, frowning.

“I’m sorry, sir, we don’t have a reservation under that name.”

“Are you sure? Could you check again?”

“I’ve checked twice, and I can’t see it, sir. There must have been a mix up. I would still offer you a table, but...” she looked back towards the restaurant, which was completely packed. “We don’t have any free right now. You could wait at the bar, if you want.”

“Uh,” Caspar said, looking at Joe. 

“We could try and find somewhere else?” Joe suggested. 

They tried three more restaurants, with no luck.

“Well, shit,” Caspar said, turning to Joe as they left the third. 

“I know,” Joe said, “downside of living in a college town. The weekend basically starts on Thursday night.”

“I’m really sorry about this. I swear to god, I did make a reservation.”

Joe put his hands up. “I believe you. Anyway, don’t worry about it — I’m not that hungry.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying. I’m really not.”

“Okay, well...” Caspar said, looking around. “What shall we do, then?”

Joe shrugged. They’d wandered away from the restaurant now, closer to the boardwalk, which Caspar always thought looked pretty at night, lit by the warm glow of the street lamps and the fairy lights strung up on the railings at the edge of the water. 

They were close to the center of town now, and a fair number of people were milling around, in and out of the restaurants and bars, or just strolling along the riverside.

They walked for a bit longer, talking as they went. It wasn’t until Caspar noticed Joe was shivering a little in his thin shirt that he realised it had gotten significantly later — and several degrees chillier.

“Are you cold?” He asked, though the answer was fairly obvious. 

“I’m fine,” Joe said. When he saw Caspar looking at him skeptically, though, he admitted, “okay, yeah, a little bit.”

“Oh, sorry, Joe, you should have said something! D’you want my jacket?” 

“Then _you’ll_ be cold.”

Caspar shrugged. “Not really.” Granted, he was in a light jacket, but he actually felt pretty warm. 

He reconsidered, though. “My house isn’t too far from here,” he said, “we could head back there, maybe get some takeout? I don’t want to freeze you to death _and_ starve you. I feel like that would be a pretty bad first date.”

Joe laughed. “Yeah,” he agreed, “that sounds good. I _am_ actually kind of starving now.”

“Oops,” said Caspar, “too late then. Wow, I’m officially the worst date ever.”

Joe grinned at him. “Well, maybe not the _worst_.”

 

*

 

 

Just under an hour later, they were back at Caspar’s apartment, playing Crash Bandicoot while they waited for the pizza to arrive. Joe had been pretty excited to see the game on the shelf — it had apparently been his one of his favorites as a kid.

All in all, it wasn’t exactly how Caspar had imagined the night going — but with Joe next to him, smiling and laughing and looking as irresistible as ever, he found he didn’t really mind very much at all.

Well, except for... “Damn it,” he said, throwing down the controller in frustration as Crash’s ghost floated towards heaven yet _again_. He didn't understand. It hadn't looked this difficult when he'd been watching Joe play.

“Sorry, buddy,” Joe said, turning to Caspar, mouth quirking up a little at the corners. “At least you got further than ten seconds this time?” He added, referring to Caspar’s disastrous first attempt.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” Caspar said.

“Mm, no...” Joe said, attempting an innocent expression, though he looked like he might start laughing at any second.

“Sure,” Caspar said, turning to regard him skeptically. He found himself distracted, however, by having Joe this close, his eyes cataloguing the little details of Joe’s face — the different shades of blue in his eyes, his eyelashes, surprisingly long and dark, the freckles and moles dotting his tanned skin.

The moment stretched on, the joking atmosphere abruptly gone, replaced by something more charged. Joe bit his lip, his eyes flicking down to Caspar’s mouth. Feeling his heart pound, Caspar leaned forward a little, and Joe mimicked the action.

Then they were kissing — Caspar wasn’t entirely sure who’d moved first to close the gap, his mind going blank for long seconds at the feel of Joe’s mouth moving over his, almost tentative. He moved closer, reaching up to cradle Joe’s jaw in one hand, tilting his face and deepening the kiss. His tongue darted lightly over Joe’s lower lip and Joe opened for him with a soft moan that shot straight to Caspar’s groin.

The kiss grew in intensity, and Caspar’s neck began to ache at the awkward angle. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been there — time had seemed to take on a slow, syrup-like quality — all he knew was that he needed Joe closer. 

His hands seemed to get the message seconds before his brain caught up, moving to Joe’s waist and pulling him in. Joe moved with him, and the next second he was in Caspar’s lap, hands going to Caspar’s shoulders, attempting to balance himself as Caspar pulled him even closer. His senses were overwhelmed with Joe — the heat of his mouth, the silky feel of his hair between Caspar’s fingers, his thighs bracketing Caspar’s waist. 

He pulled away to nip gently, teasingly at Joe’s lower lip, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw before moving down to his pulse point, teeth grazing the delicate skin. Joe’s breath hitched and he moaned quietly, letting his head fall back a little. He relaxed completely in Caspar’s lap, melting against him, and Caspar groaned at the friction the movement caused. His hips jerked upwards reflexively, grinding his hard on against Joe’s ass. 

Joe brought their mouths together again, an edge of desperation to it now, and Caspar’s hand drifted to just above his zipper, resting there for a moment. “Is this—” he managed to get out, panting, between increasingly frantic kisses. 

Joe nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured against Caspar’s mouth.

Caspar moved to cup Joe through his jeans — the angle was awkward but he wanted, needed to know that Joe was enjoying this as much as he was.

“Ah, _Caspar_ —” Joe moaned into the kiss. He was hard, and Caspar felt his own dick twitch in the confines of his jeans. “I—” 

“Oh my _god_!” 

After a delay of the several seconds it took for Caspar’s brain — which was otherwise occupied — to process the information, he looked up, startled, to see Oli stood in the doorway, looking flustered.

“Oh my god — sorry — I—I’ll just -” Oli said, hands up as he backed away. Before either of them could say anything, he’d backed out of the room, the door swinging shut behind him.

Caspar looked back at Joe, wondering what to do now. The doorbell rang and they both jumped.

“Uh... I guess that’s the pizza,” Joe said, climbing off Caspar’s lap. Caspar just barely restrained himself from making grabby hands.

He ran his hands through his hair, attempting to get his breathing back to normal, and then stood up, following Joe into the hall.

And wow, he didn’t think he’d ever be _disappointed_ by a pizza delivery — but apparently there really was a first time for everything.

He had to admit, though, that the mood had definitely been lost. Apart from anything else, now that his brain had re-engaged, he could hear sounds from the kitchen, indicating that Josh and Oli — and what sounded like a couple of others — had returned. 

It was pretty clear Oli had told them the den was off limits, which, Caspar thought reluctantly, was now a little unfair, considering they’d probably come back to hang out in here — the kitchen was large enough, but there wasn’t really anywhere comfortable to sit — and all he and Joe would probably be doing was eating pizza rather than, say, having sex on the couch. 

“I guess I’d better let them know they can come in if they want,” he sighed. 

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic about it,” Joe laughed. 

“Reconsidering the worst date ever title yet?” Caspar asked, a little morosely.

“Honestly, Caspar, it’s fine,” Joe said, “I don’t mind. It’s been... good.” At this his eyes met Caspar’s, and Caspar felt a flare of heat at his expression. 

“And, anyway,” Joe continued, looking away, cheeks a little flushed, “they can have some of this.” He gestured at the multiple pizza boxes. “Seriously, what are you ordering for, the next week?”

Caspar was firmly of the opinion that more was more when it came to ordering takeout — since a significant part of his diet was comprised of leftovers.

“Fine,” he said, sighing. Making his way across the hall to the kitchen, he found Josh and Oli, along with Jack and Alexa. 

“Safe to come in now?” Josh said, raising an eyebrow.

“Did you guys order pizza?” Alexa asked. “I’m starving.”

Oli was still avoiding his eyes, but Jack gave him an over-exaggerated, lascivious wink. He followed Caspar into the den, then stopped, looking surprised, “Joe!” He exclaimed, “didn’t know it was you, buddy!”

“Jack,” Joe said with a grin, looking pleased, “how are you?”

“Oh, you know, same old, same old.” 

Right, so they obviously knew each other, and apparently fairly well. Caspar tried not feel jealous. Jack was one of his best buddies, but he was also gorgeous — not to mention pretty infamous on campus for his long list of conquests.

In the end, though, after catching up with Jack for a while, Joe ended up talking mostly to Oli — the two of them seemed to get on well. Ridiculously, Caspar found himself feeling slightly jealous about _that_ as well, before he mentally kicked himself — he needed to chill, seriously. This was, technically, still their first date. And besides, it was _good_ that Joe was getting along with his friends. 

Between them they all made a pretty respectable dent in the pizza — even though the others had apparently just been out to eat — and it was past midnight when Joe said, sounding a little reluctant, that he’d better go.

“Got class at eight thirty,” he explained, nose scrunching in distaste.

“I’ll walk you out,” Caspar said. He got up, ignoring any looks he might be receiving from his friends — or, at the very least, from Jack.

He followed Joe out to the porch and they stopped, the silence stretching out for a few seconds into the quiet night.

“So...” Joe said, “I had a good time.” Then, smirking, he added, “at least, it wasn’t the worst date _ever_.”

“Wow, so generous of you,” Caspar said, grinning. “But seriously, I’m sorry about all the like, disasters.”

“We don’t seem to have very good luck,” Joe mused.

“No,” Caspar admitted, “we did meet, though — that was pretty lucky.”

Joe snorted. “You’re kind of cheesy, you know that?”

Caspar shrugged, “Kinda. I mean, yeah. But only when I really like someone.”

“ _So_ cheesy,” Joe said, but his expression and tone were soft. He moved closer, like he couldn’t help himself.

“You like it,” Caspar said, hoping it was true.

“Nope,” Joe said, biting his lip and smiling a little, “not at all.” He leaned up and pulled Caspar down for a kiss. Caspar came willingly, arms looping around Joe’s waist, pulling him close.

The kiss was sweet and slow — almost as if this was their first kiss, like they hadn’t been enthusiastically making out on the couch less than an hour ago — but Caspar still felt his heart beat a little faster.

“I really should go,” Joe said when they finally broke apart, though he didn’t move.

“Mm. Yeah,” Caspar murmured, looking down at Joe with what he was pretty sure was a big, dopey smile. Reluctantly, he loosened his grip. “We should do this again sometime... soon,” he said, as Joe stepped away.

“Yeah,” Joe agreed. Then, smiling mischievously as he walked backwards, he added, “I should definitely kick your ass at Crash Bandicoot again, sometime soon.”

“Hey,” Caspar protested, “I wasn’t _that_ bad!”

Joe just laughed. “Goodnight, Caspar.”

“Night, Joe.”

Back in the den, Jack and Oli were deep in conversation, while Josh and Alexa had moved to the couch he and Joe had vacated. Alexa sat up a little from where she was curled under Josh’s arm and reached out to give him a high five and an enthusiastic “get it, dude!”

Josh, however, was looking a little worried. “Um,” he said, “we’re like, okay to sit on this couch, right? You guys didn’t, uh...”

Caspar laughed. “No,” he said, “we didn’t fuck on the couch, Josh.” 

Alexa rolled her eyes. “See, I told you,” she said.

Josh looked relieved. “Just checking.”

“Sorry about earlier, buddy,” Caspar said to Oli, “not too mentally scarred?”

“Eh, a little bit,” said Oli, shrugging. “Seems like it went well, though?” At Caspar’s nod, he added, “Joe’s a pretty cool guy.”

“Yeah,” Caspar agreed, grinning, “he is.”

 

*

 

 

Joe let himself into the apartment quietly, in case Britt had already gone to bed.

Entering the living room, though, he found her curled up under a blanket on the couch, the TV on low in the background as she tapped away on her iPad.

“And what time do you call this, mister?” She asked, grinning, when she saw him.

“Sorry, mom,” he said, flopping backwards onto the armchair.

“So,” she said. He heard a rustling, and turned his head to see she was attempting to sit up, struggling a little where she was twisted in the blanket. She finally managed to push it aside. “Tell me. How was it?” 

“It was good,” Joe said, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face, “it was... really good.”

“Oh, _good_ , yes, thank you, very descriptive,” Britt said, impatiently, “come on, I want details. After I’ve been languishing here, tragically, all alone—”

“Britt, you were out until three AM last night.”

“Whatever,” Britt said, undeterred, “I still want details.”

“Okay, okay,” Joe said. He told her about the unfortunate mix up with the restaurant — she got a good laugh out of that — and about going back to Caspar’s.

“Ooh,” Britt said, leaning forward, “so you went back to his. And...?”

“And... we played video games and ate pizza,” Joe said, laughing at her disappointed expression. “And,” he added, “maybe we also made out on the couch.”

That perked her up again. “You did!” She exclaimed. “Well, is he a good kisser?”

“Ugh, Britt,” he said, groaning, “stop it. I’m starting to feel like a fourteen-year-old girl.”

“So he _is_ a good kisser!”

“Oh my god, shut up. Anyway, one of his friends interrupted us. Oh, hey,” he added, remembering, “Jack was there, turns out Caspar knows him too.”

She was still looking at him expectantly. 

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Joe grumbled, “ _fine_ , yes, he’s a good kisser. Happy?”

“Very,” Britt said, nodding.

“Anyway,” Joe continued, “I’m going to bed.” He glanced at the time with a grimace. He was definitely going to regret this tomorrow morning — he wasn’t great at getting up early at the best of times. 

With some effort, he managed to pull himself up out of the armchair and head for the bathroom.

“Night, JoJo,” Britt called after him.

“Night, Britt Britt,” he called back, rolling his eyes a little at the ridiculous nickname — it had started as a joke when they’d been drunk one time, but Britt had latched onto it. 

As he brushed his teeth, he found himself wondering _would_ have happened if Oli hadn’t interrupted them — and was dismayed to find himself feeling, in retrospect, a little relieved.

He hadn’t felt that way at the time — at all. At the time — well, it had all happened so fast, and all he remembered was wanting Caspar closer, wanting _more_. 

And he still did. He wanted more. He wanted Caspar. He _did_. 

But, well — the thing was, it had been a while. In the first few weeks after he'd broken up with Matt, he’d partied pretty hard — it was a good distraction. And that had led to multiple random hook-ups, guys and girls. 

But there’d been nothing since then. And those hook-ups — well, he hadn’t exactly been sober for any of them, and most he didn’t remember all that well. 

Unwillingly, his mind drifted back to _before_ the break-up, and... _no_. No, no, nope. He shook himself. He didn’t want to bring up _that_ particular brand of shittiness right now. Not after he’d had such a good night. 

He thought back with wry amusement to Caspar’s fretting that it had been _the worst date ever_ — when it was, if Joe was honest with himself, actually the best he’d had in a long time. 

So all that other stuff — well, fuck it. It could wait. 

Because right now, he was happy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [wiseplant](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wiseplant) and [beebechnaesheim](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beebechnaesheim) for betaing ♥ Any remaining mistakes are mine.

Caspar zipped up his jacket against the wind rustling through the trees around him. It was a cold, gray Friday morning, a light mist of rain just beginning to fall as he made his way across campus. Arriving at the building with a few minutes to spare, he pulled out his phone, tapping a quick reply to Josh in the group Whatsapp, agreeing to the time he'd suggested for tonight.

He looked up to see students beginning to filter out of the building, slow and a little sleepy — it had been an early class. Caspar felt a faint spark of anticipation, and rolled his eyes internally at himself. Though they’d hung out a few times now, and been on a couple more dates, he still felt butterflies in his stomach at the thought of seeing Joe again. It was ridiculous, really, but he couldn’t help it.

As if on cue, at that moment Joe emerged from the building, and if Caspar’s heart jumped a little at the sight of him — well, nobody had to know, did they?

He was wearing his glasses — Caspar had become very fond of those glasses — his hair tousled as always, though today it looked less deliberate and more like genuine bedhead. He was chatting with a pretty redheaded girl, and they came to a stop just past the entrance. Joe was saying something to her, running a hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable. As Caspar watched, she nodded, saying something in response, and they parted ways. A couple of seconds later, Joe spotted him and headed over.

“Hey,” he said, smiling.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Caspar replied, leaning down to give him a quick kiss.

“Is that your new strategy?” Joe asked, as they began to walk, “calling me a cheesy nickname and then kissing me immediately so I can’t object?”

“Maybe,” Caspar shrugged, grinning a little, “why, don’t you like it? I could kiss you less, if you prefer.”

Joe gave him a somewhat skeptical look. Which was fair enough — they’d spent enough time together now that it couldn’t have escaped his notice Caspar was pretty, well — a nice way of putting it would be _affectionate_ ( _clingy_ would be another one, and one which had, unfortunately, been used in the past).

“No, it’s fine,” he said, adding, with a long suffering air, “I mean, I guess I can put up with it.”

“Aw, thanks, cupcake,” Caspar said, cackling at Joe’s horrified expression.

“Please do not ever call me that again,” Joe said, shuddering.

“Noted,” Caspar laughed. “Oh, and by the way — what was that girl saying to you, just now?”

“Oh, you saw that, did you?”

“Yep.”

Joe looked a little sheepish. “Well, she was asking for my number, actually — but I told her I had a boyfriend,” he added, quickly.

Caspar grinned. “Boyfriend, huh?” He’d thought — hoped — that they were heading that way, but he still felt a little surge of happiness in his chest at the confirmation.

“Yeah — I mean,” Joe looked at him, and then his eyes widened slightly, as if he’d just realized what he’d said, “I mean... unless. Unless you don’t... I mean, I’d get it if you didn’t—”

Caspar cut in. “I do,” he said, “definitely.”

“Uh,” Joe said, “okay... well. Good.” He looked away. His cheeks had gone a little pink.

“So,” Caspar said, taking pity on him and changing the subject, “how was class? I mean,” he added, knowing it would get a reaction, “aside from random girls throwing themselves at you?”

As predicted, Joe protested, insisting that the girl — apparently her name was Rosie — was actually very nice, and that she definitely _did_ not _throw herself at me, Caspar_ (though actually, Caspar thought it would have been perfectly understandable if she had).

“So, anyway,” he continued, once it had been satisfactorily established that no-one had been throwing themselves at anyone else, “Josh, Oli and I are having a bunch of people over for drinks tonight, then everyone’s heading over to a party at Theta Phi. You could come, if you want? Or we could do something else — or stay in. I don’t mind.”

By this time, they’d reached The Black Book. Arden, who was behind the counter serving a customer, greeted them with a wave.

“No, it’s cool,” Joe said, “I’ll come.”

“Great, well, I finish practise at seven — I could meet you there?” He knew the sports complex was fairly close to Joe and Britt’s apartment.

“Uh,” Joe said, looking a bit skittish for some inexplicable reason, “could I meet you later, back at the house?”

“Sure,” Caspar agreed. He was about to ask why, but the next second, Arden, having finished with the customer, was bounding over to say hi, and he forgot about it.

  

*

 

“I gotta say, man,” Josh said, tilting his head to one side as if in consideration, “the situation is one hundred per cent improved now that you’re spending all your time _with_ Joe, instead of spending all your time with us, _talking_ about Joe.”

They were on their way back from the store, having stopped after practise to meet Conor — the only one of them with an actual, legitimate ID — and stock up on drinks for tonight. The rest of the boys were up ahead, while Caspar and Josh were lagging behind a little.

“Hey,” Caspar said, slightly affronted, “I don’t spend all my time with him. And I _didn’t_ spend all my time talking about him.” He ignored Josh’s muttered _close enough_ and continued. “Besides, you really can’t talk, buddy. You and Alexa are pretty much attached at the hip nowadays. What’s that saying, about people in glass houses, who shouldn’t like, throw things?”

Now it was Josh’s turn to look flustered. “You, uh, noticed that?” He asked.

“Uh, _yeah_ , I noticed. I’m not blind. Are you ever gonna tell me what’s going on with you two?”

“Um, well, I mean — we’re kind of, dating, I guess,” Josh admitted.

“Aw, dude, you’re blushing.”

“Shut up,” Josh grumbled. “And like you said, people in glass houses — it’s _shouldn’t throw stones_ , by the way — you’re just as bad, bro. How many times did you change outfits before your first date with Joe again, hm, remind me?”

Caspar laughed, “Okay,” he admitted, “fair.”

Arriving back at the house, they had time for a couple of quick games of Madden — Caspar actually managed to win one this time — before people started to arrive.

He ended up answering the door to most of them, hoping to catch Joe before they joined the rest of the group — Joe wasn’t a huge fan of PDA, and Caspar was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off him.

It was a good call, it turned out, as when Joe finally showed up he was dressed in a leather jacket and tight fitting, ripped skinny jeans that looked incredibly good on him, and Caspar kind of had to push him against the hallway wall and kiss him. It was unavoidable.

“Well, hello to you too,” Joe said, a little breathlessly, when they broke apart. He slid down the wall a bit — Caspar realised that in his enthusiasm, he’d almost lifted Joe clear off the floor. Oops.

“Hey,” Caspar replied, aware he was probably grinning like an idiot, “you look really hot.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” Caspar suppressed a shiver as one of Joe’s hands drifted down over his bicep, the touch maddeningly light.

Joe’s gaze, though, was clearly appreciative, and Caspar was glad he’d worn this shirt — it was just a plain white t-shirt, a little tighter than he would usually wear, but he’d remembered Alexa saying it looked good on him.

“So,” Joe said, gesturing over Caspar’s shoulder at the kitchen, where everyone was gathered, “shall we...?”

Caspar was just thinking that he’d be perfectly happy staying here, with Joe, for the rest of the night, when Oli popped his head around the door.

“Caspar, have you seen the — oh, hey Joe.”

Caspar couldn’t help but feel a little surge of annoyance. He knew it wasn’t Oli’s fault, but it was starting to feel like he and Joe were constantly being interrupted. Maybe they just had bad timing—or maybe their friends did. Whatever it was, it was getting— _frustrating_.

“Hey, Oli,” Joe said, nodding at him, “we gotta stop meeting like this.”

“Yeah buddy, y’know, I’d kind of appreciate that.”

They followed Oli back into the kitchen. Zoe, who had arrived a few minutes earlier, looked up from where she was tucked under Alfie’s arm. “Hey, Joseph,” she said, grinning at them.

“Hey, Zo,” Joe greeted her.

“D’you want a drink?” Caspar asked, turning to Joe.

“Oh, yeah — don’t worry, I’ll get it myself,” Joe said.

“Could you get me one, too?” Zoe asked Alfie. “Oh, d'you remember to get my—”

“Yeah, ‘course, babe. I got it,” Alfie nodded. He and Joe made their way through the small crowd that had gathered around the kitchen island where the drinks were set up.

“So,” Zoe said, smiling at Caspar as she turned back to him, “I’m really happy for you guys.”

Caspar had barely managed to get out a _thanks_ in reply, before she continued. “But I just need you to know — if you hurt my brother, Caspar, I _will_ kill you. Slowly, and painfully.” She tapped one heel pointedly on the floor, as if to indicate something that Caspar would rather not think about.

He gulped. “Uh,” he said. He hadn’t thought someone so tiny could be so, well, _terrifying_.

She laughed at his expression. “Sorry,” she shrugged, unrepentant, “had to be said.”

“I wouldn’t, though,” Caspar told her, earnestly, “I won’t. He’s — I really like him. A lot.”

Zoe’s expression softened. “I know you do,” she said. Then she giggled, “Alfie told me Oli and Josh got _really_ sick of you talking about him all the time.”

“It wasn’t _that_ much,” Caspar said, a little grumpily.

“What wasn’t that much?” Joe had reappeared at his arm, a bottle of Corona in hand.

“Uh, nothing,” Caspar said, flushing a bit.

“Here you go, little one,” Alfie said, handing Zoe a virgin mojito.

Before Joe could bring up the subject again, they were joined by Alexa, Josh and Jack — who’d all clearly had a few drinks already, of the non-virgin kind — and the conversation moved on.

  

*

 

The party was loud, the walls reverberating with thumping bass and the buzz of laughter and conversation. It was the kind of Friday night Caspar would usually be all about — but tonight, he just wasn’t feeling it.

He was currently stuck talking to a girl from his Econ class — Nancy, he thought her name was — and while it _was_ good to know Caspar wasn't the only one their professor seemed to irrationally hate, he was more interested in finding Joe again, having lost him about half an hour ago.

"— so, yeah, and _then_ he tells me he's gonna deduct marks for every word I went over the maximum," Possibly Nancy was saying, "and I mean, I totally would've gotten an A otherwise."

"That sucks," Caspar said, sympathetically, "anyway, listen, I've gotta go find my boyfriend."

“Your boyfriend? Oh, right, that cute guy in the leather jacket you were with earlier?”

Caspar nodded.

“Oh, I think I saw him, like ten minutes ago — in the hall?”

“Thanks!” Caspar said, already moving in that direction, calling over his shoulder, “see you in class!”

He made his way through the throng of people out into the hall, where he found Joe near the bottom of the stairs, talking with Oli and a pretty brunette girl.

When he reached them, he nodded in greeting at Oli and the girl, and, pulling Joe aside a little, leaned down to ask, “d’you wanna get out of here?”

Joe looked up at him, raising an eyebrow, before nodding. “Yeah,” he said, “let’s do that.” In one quick move, he downed the rest of his drink and set the empty cup down on the side.

“Joe and I are gonna head off,” Caspar said, looking back at Oli.

“Okay, then,” Oli said, giving him a knowing look, “see you, buddy. Later, Joe!”

“Have a good night!” Joe called back as he followed Caspar out the door, adding, “and nice to meet you, Alice!”

Outside, the night air was cold and brisk, and after briefly contemplating the not inconsiderable walk, they agreed to split the cab fare.

Caspar felt a nervous kind of anticipation thrumming in his veins as they exited the cab and made their way up the front steps. He unlocked the door and Joe followed him inside.

“So,” he said, once Caspar had turned back to him, “Josh and Oli probably won’t be back for a while.”

“No,” Caspar agreed.

Joe stepped a little closer, and Caspar mirrored the movement. “So we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

“Yeah,” Caspar murmured. Joe was so close now, looking up at him, his face half cast into shadow in the darkness of the hall.

Though truth be told, this was all Caspar had been thinking about all night, in the end it was Joe who moved first, threading his fingers through Caspar’s hair and pulling him down until their lips met.

He brought one hand up to cup Joe’s face, thumb stroking along his cheekbone as they kissed. Joe made a soft sound in the back of his throat, swaying into Caspar a little, and Caspar moved a hand to the small of his back, wanting to keep him there, every inch of their bodies pressed together.

He could feel Joe hard against him now, knew Joe must be able to feel him too. His head spun a little, Joe’s fingers tightening in his hair as the kiss deepened, all burning intensity and heat.

Caspar barely realized they’d moved until he felt his back hit the wall. With an an effort that felt colossal, he pulled himself away a fraction, still close enough to feel Joe’s warm breath on his face. “We should—” he panted, cutting himself off to press kisses to Joe's cheekbone, his jaw, “we should — upstairs,” he finally managed to get out.

“Yeah,” Joe agreed, voice a little hoarse, “yeah, let’s — upstairs.”

They managed to make it up the stairs and no further — Caspar had never realised before just how many conveniently placed walls and surfaces there were between the hall and his bedroom. He had Joe pinned against the wall opposite the bedroom — which now seemed, incredibly, even further away than it had when they were downstairs. He just couldn’t stop touching Joe, couldn’t stop kissing him.

He shivered as one of Joe’s hands slipped under his shirt, heat sparking through him at the feeling. He groaned into Joe’s mouth, hand tightening where it rested on his hip before sliding down and hitching his leg up, the friction now almost unbearable through both of their jeans. Joe’s arms wrapped around his neck, pressing himself impossibly closer. Before he’d even really realized what he was doing, Caspar had both of his hands wrapped around Joe’s thighs, lifting him away from the floor.

“What the — oh _fuck, Caspar_ ,” Joe gasped, wrapping his legs around Caspar’s waist and kissing him a little desperately as Caspar carried him into the bedroom and, with limited finesse, dropped him as gently as he could onto the bed. He stopped to undress, as fast as humanly possible, unwilling to keep any distance between them for more than a few moments.

He looked up from toeing off his shoes and socks to see Joe had done the same, and felt his breath hitch at the sight. His eyes raked over the planes of Joe’s chest, the smooth, golden skin and the sharp definition of his abs, his slim waist and muscled thighs, the shape of his dick now clearly visible through his black briefs, straining against the material.

His mouth felt dry and he swallowed, eyes flicking back up to Joe’s face. Joe’s hair had fallen over his forehead a little, his eyes wide, impossibly blue in the low light, and he was biting his lip. Caspar couldn’t quite read his expression.

“Uh, Caspar...?” He said, finally, sounding a little uncertain.

“Sorry — sorry,” Caspar said, joining him on the bed, propping himself above Joe, arms either side of his head, “you’re just, you’re gorgeous.”

“Oh,” Joe said, blinking. He seemed to be about to say something else, but then apparently changed his mind, pulling Caspar down for another kiss instead.

Caspar groaned deeply at the feeling of his own achingly hard dick pressing against Joe’s through the thin fabric of their boxers — he’d barely registered until then that he’d left his on, distracted by Joe.

He felt Joe’s hands exploring his body, skating down his arms, across his chest, his stomach, felt his muscles jumping a little under the each light touch. His hands moved to Joe’s waist, stroking over the sharp jut of his hipbones, fingers slipping a little beneath waistband of his boxers, pulling him in, up, until their dicks rubbed together, the increased friction at once incredibly hot, and incredibly frustrating.

“Oh, fuck,” Joe moaned, “fuck — oh — Caspar, wait —” Caspar felt a hand press against his chest, and it took him a few seconds to register Joe was pushing him away.

He froze, finally connecting the words and the action. “Sorry,” he said, “fuck, sorry, is this not —”

“No,” Joe cut in, “no, no it’s fine, I just, uh —” he swallowed, eyes flicking away from Caspar’s before meeting his gaze again, “it’s, uh... it’s been a while. And I... um, yeah. Like... a long while.”

Caspar looked down at him, his brain slowly coming back online. There was something about Joe’s expression, his tone, that made Caspar wonder if there was more, somehow, to what he was saying.

He kept quiet, waiting to see if Joe would continue. When he didn’t, he said, carefully, “Joe, if you’re — if you’re not okay with this, we can stop —”

“No,” Joe repeated, “no, I’m — I want this, I just — uh. Go easy on me, okay?” He looked away this time, avoiding Caspar’s eyes.

Caspar frowned, tilting Joe’s face back towards him. “Of course,” he said, adding, “but we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“We’re not,” Joe said, firmly, and pulled him in again, kissing him, deep, hot and dirty. His legs wrapped around Caspar’s waist, friction once again almost unbearably intense, and Caspar felt his dick jerk in his boxers, precome dampening the fabric. Joe’s skin was hot under his hands, almost silky, and Caspar wanted to touch and kiss every inch of him — he hoped he’d have a chance to do that, someday, but now — he didn’t think he could hold out that long.

“Joe— _mm_ ,” he managed to get out, between kisses, “what d’you want?”

“I want, _ah_ — want you to fuck me,” Joe murmured, “is that —”

Caspar felt his hips jerk, brain short circuiting a bit at the thought. “God, _yes_. Yeah.”

“Okay then,” Joe said, laughing a little against his mouth. He pulled away so he could slide his underwear down and off, and Caspar followed suit, though he managed to overbalance and fall to one side in the process.

Though he sounded as though he was trying not to, Joe giggled a little. “C’mere, you idiot,” he said, pulling Caspar close again.

“Hey,” Caspar said, “not my fault, kinda — kinda distracted right now — oh, fuck,” he swore as he felt Joe’s hand wrap lightly around his dick.

“Do you have —” Joe asked.

“Yeah,” he managed to get out. With no small effort, he pulled away to reach over to the nightstand, pulling condoms and lube out of the top drawer.

He turned back and his heart stuttered at the sight of Joe, whose hand had drifted down between his legs, teasing his hole. His eyes fixed on Caspar’s, his cheeks a little flushed.

“Fuck,” Caspar swore, “can I —”

“Yeah,” Joe said, licking his lips as his eyes flicked up and down Caspar’s body, lingering on his cock.

Caspar uncapped the lube and squirted a generous amount over his fingers. He climbed back over Joe, brushing one finger lightly over his hole. He watched Joe’s expression, the way his breathing quickened, the way his hips twitched a little, before gently pressing inside. Joe’s breath hitched and one hand moved to grip Caspar’s bicep. Caspar leant down to press a kiss to his jaw, working his finger slowly in and out.

Minutes passed, and Joe seemed to grow impatient. “Caspar, you don’t need to — I can take more,” he panted.

“Okay,” Caspar murmured. He pressed a second finger inside, feeling the slight resistance, and shifted down so he could take Joe’s cock in his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, oh god —” Joe swore, sounding wrecked. Caspar felt Joe’s pulse jump, his cock twitching, as he traced his tongue over a vein in the shaft, moving back up to lap at the precome leaking from the head.

He guided Joe’s cock back into his mouth, taking it as far down as he could, massaging the underside with his tongue as he slipped a third finger inside, curling and twisting a little until, finally, he found the right spot. Joe moaned, hips working now as he began to fuck himself back on Caspar’s fingers.

“Oh god, fuck, Caspar —” he stuttered out, “s-stop, m’gonna — want — want you inside, before —”

Caspar kind of wanted to carry on, to keep going until Joe was coming down his throat — but he also wanted to do what Joe wanted. Not to mention, his dick was protesting, almost painfully hard where it was trapped, rubbing against the sheets.

“Yeah — yeah, okay,” he said, breathlessly, pulling away and slipping his fingers out. Joe let out a low whimper at the loss and Caspar felt a heady mix of desire and tenderness spark in his chest.

His hands were actually shaking a little as he rolled on the condom. Joe grabbed the lube and poured some onto his palm, and Caspar swore as Joe stroked over his dick, had to pull Joe’s hand away because he felt like he could just let him keep going, and going.

He lined himself up and begun to press inside, as slowly as he could possibly manage. His body was screaming at him to bury himself as deep as he could, _rightthefucknow_ — but Joe, Joe was tense, his eyes squeezed shut and his breathing shaky, and Caspar so desperately didn’t want to hurt him.

*

 

Joe bit his lip, hard, trying his best not to let any noise escape. It hurt, more than he remembered, the stretch uncomfortable, too full, too much, the faint, lingering buzz of alcohol nowhere near enough to dull it, or to soften the intensity of the situation at all.

“Sorry,” Caspar murmured, and Joe realized he must have made a noise, “fuck, _sorry_ ,” he said, pressing kisses to Joe’s face. “We can — we can stop?” He offered.

“No,” Joe said, “no, don’t — keep going, it’s fine — it’s just—”

“Sorry,” Caspar mumbled, and Joe wanted to tell him to stop fucking apologizing already, but then Caspar’s lips found his again, gentle, the kiss ridiculously sweet and tender considering their current position.

He finally bottomed out, and stopped, holding himself there, arms trembling a little with the effort of it. Joe could feel the warmth of Caspar’s breath on his face, so close to his, their noses brushing.

“You okay?” Caspar asked, tone equal parts arousal and worry.

“Yeah,” Joe said, licking his lips. The pain had dulled now, though the feeling still wasn’t exactly pleasant. “You can — you can move.”

Caspar did, slowly, groaning, pressing his face into Joe’s neck. Joe carded a hand through his hair, soft beneath his fingers, closing his eyes against the sensation. It didn’t really hurt at all, now, but it was just so — so _much_. Caspar all around him, inside him, filling every aspect of his senses — it was overwhelming.

Caspar’s lips found his again, kissing him deeply as his hand slipped between their bodies, gripping Joe’s cock and jerking him slowly, coaxing him back to full hardness.

Joe moaned a little at the feeling as Caspar rocked deeper inside him, and then felt a spark of white-hot pleasure as Caspar thrust in again, this time at a slightly different angle, hitting his prostate. He gasped against Caspar’s mouth, and heard himself moan again, louder this time.

“Feel good?” Caspar murmured. Joe managed to nod, and Caspar thrust in again at the same angle — and again, and again.

“Oh — oh, _fuck_ , Caspar—” Joe heard himself say, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice, breathy with arousal.

“Joe,” Caspar groaned, leaning down to press their mouths together in a messy kiss. He jerked Joe faster, twisting his wrist on the upstroke, rubbing his thumb over the head.

Joe just moaned, almost beyond words now, though he knew he was still saying Caspar's name. He tightened his legs around Caspar's waist, one heel digging in to the small of his back. Caspar pressed in deep, grinding his hips a little, hitting exactly the right spot, and Joe felt himself coming, felt the pleasure spreading through his body right down to the tips of his toes, bright and hot, as he shot, spilling over Caspar’s hand and his own stomach.

Caspar swore, his thrusts growing increasingly erratic, and he buried himself deep inside Joe as he came, hips twitching, Joe’s name escaping his lips on a broken moan.

They lay there, panting, for a several long moments, until Joe gave Caspar’s shoulder a little push. “‘Kay,” he mumbled, “move... heavy.”

Caspar shifted, pulling out carefully. Joe couldn’t suppress the sound (not a whimper, _definitely_ not) that escaped him at the feeling. Caspar kissed him again, sweetly, cupping his face. “That was amazing,” he said, when they finally broke apart, “ _you’re_ amazing.”

And Joe — well, Joe wasn’t sure exactly what he’d done to merit such praise, but he couldn’t help smiling anyway. He reached up, still a little uncoordinated, to pet Caspar’s cheek. “Yeah,” he agreed, “it was.” Caspar beamed at him.

Eventually, with a grimace, Joe registered the unpleasant feeling of come drying on his stomach. Caspar went to the bathroom to fetch a washcloth so they could clean themselves up, throwing it in the vague direction of the trashcan when they were done — Joe heard it land somewhere that sounded distinctly like the wall, then the floor. He climbed back into bed, gathering Joe into his arms, pulling him close.

“Should’ve known you’d be a cuddler,” Joe said.

“Problem?” Caspar asked.

“Mm... no,” Joe admitted, after a moment. His head was pillowed on Caspar’s chest, the steady _thump-thump_ of his heartbeat undeniably soothing. He felt his eyelids grow heavy.

“Good,” said Caspar, sounding pleased. He brought one hand up up to cover Joe’s where it rested on his chest. “‘Cause you’re very cuddle... cuddle-able.”

“... doesn’t even make _sense_ ,” Joe protested, sleepily, “speak English.”

“I am,” Caspar replied, yawning.

Joe wasn’t sure if he responded after that, already drifting off to sleep, Caspar’s heartbeat strong and steady in his ear.

  

*

 

Caspar woke slowly, unwillingly. It was early. Like, _way_ too early. Groggily, he buried his face into soft hair, his lips brushing smooth, warm skin.

The person in his arms shifted, pressing back into Caspar’s chest, and Caspar felt his fuzzy, sleep-blurred thoughts sharpen a little, eyes opening. _Joe_. He smiled against Joe’s neck, memories of last night flooding back.

He felt Joe stir and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, murmuring, voice still scratchy with sleep, “G’morning.”

Joe grunted, and Caspar felt him tense for a moment, before he relaxed again. “Morning,” he said, turning in Caspar’s arms. Caspar leant forward to kiss him, but Joe stopped him, pressing a hand to Caspar’s mouth.

“Morning breath,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

“Don’t care,” Caspar said, leaning forward again.

Joe rolled his eyes, but let Caspar press their mouths together. The kiss was, indeed, a little sour with sleep, but Caspar soon forgot about it as Joe’s lips moved over his, his tongue slipping into Caspar’s mouth as they kissed slowly, so different to the almost desperate intensity of the previous night, but just as good.

When they broke apart for air, Caspar moved down to Joe’s neck — he’d learnt Joe liked that — kissing and scraping his teeth lightly over his fluttering pulse. Joe moaned, hips jerking forward into Caspar’s.

Caspar pulled away, finally — he was pretty sure he’d left a mark, oops — and Joe leaned in to kiss him again, rolling them so he was on top. He broke the kiss, moving down Caspar’s body, thumbs brushing his nipples, trailing hot, wet kisses down his chest, until he reached Caspar’s cock. He looked up, eyes locking on Caspar’s. Caspar felt his cock stir at the feel of Joe’s warm breath, his mouth just millimeters away.

Joe leant forward, wrapping one hand around the shaft, thumb circling the head as he pressed a kiss to the side. He slipped his lips over the head and suckled, gently.

Caspar groaned, hips twitching as he tried desperately not to thrust into Joe’s mouth. Joe seemed to take pity on him, and he moved down further, slowly, until the head hit the back of his throat.

“Oh, god,” Caspar moaned, “oh god, _Joe_ , fuck, so good.” Joe was bobbing his head now, one hand slipping lower to cup Caspar’s balls.

Caspar reached down to cradle Joe’s jaw, stroking over his cheek, feeling the shape of his cock stretching Joe’s lips wide. He threaded his hand into Joe’s hair, brushing it back from his forehead. He felt his hips snap up as Joe took him in deep again. “Fuck, ah — sorry,” he groaned.

Joe pulled off, still jerking Caspar’s cock as he said, hoarsely, “s’okay, you can — you can fuck my mouth, if you like.” And _christ_ , Caspar thought for a second he might actually come right then, at the combination of Joe’s words and the way he looked, lips red and wet, cheeks flushed, lashes a little damp where his eyes had watered.

He didn’t wait for an answer, sucking Caspar back down again. Caspar fucked his hips up, carefully, pressing Joe’s head down a little as he did so. He felt Joe relax, letting Caspar guide him and he groaned deeply. It didn’t take more than a few more thrusts until he was coming down Joe’s throat, head spinning with the intensity of his orgasm.

He felt himself coming down, slowly, mind still a little hazy. Joe was still between his legs, propped up on one elbow. His other hand had slipped down, and he was jerking himself rapidly, arm a blur of movement.

“Joe, _fuck_ , c’mere,” Caspar said, yanking him upwards. He replaced Joe’s hand with his own, and felt Joe press his face into his neck, moaning. He fisted Joe’s cock quickly, a little roughly, until Joe was coming, spilling over his hand, gasping Caspar’s name.

Caspar held him as he came down, pressing kisses into his hair. “Joe, _god_ , so good, you’re incredible,” he murmured. He felt his eyes drifting closed, realized that falling asleep right now possibly wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, but couldn’t really bring himself to care.

He woke, an indeterminate amount of time later, to light streaming in from behind the blinds. Squinting at the clock on the nightstand, he saw it was already mid-morning. He shifted a bit, grimacing at the feel of drying come on his stomach.

“Ugh... need to shower,” Joe mumbled, the words muffled against Caspar's chest. Caspar grunted his agreement, and they pulled themselves apart, a little painfully, dragging themselves to the bathroom.

Once they were done, Caspar managed to find some breakfast-appropriate food (cereal and, well, cereal — but hey, at least the milk wasn’t out of date). Outside, the skies were a dark, ominous looking gray, and it had begun to rain. They made a unanimous decision to stay in, ending up in the den, and Caspar attempted to teach Joe how to play Age of Empires.

It was past midday before they were joined by Alexa, followed by Oli. Josh finally emerged a little later (he liked his lie-ins — not quite as much as Caspar did, but then, that was a pretty high bar). He seemed surprised when he discovered they’d already been playing for a couple of hours.

“Jesus,” he said, “what have you been _doing_ all this time? No offense, Joe, but you’re shit at this.”

And, hm, okay, Caspar might be partly blame for that. It didn’t help that he kept getting distracted by Joe, who was sitting with his legs thrown across Caspar’s lap, dressed in a too-big hoodie he’d borrowed, since he hadn’t brought any clean clothes, a faint but noticeable hickey on his neck.

Josh insisted on taking over from Caspar in attempting to teach Joe, until Joe — backed by Oli, who’d been complaining for a while by this time — grew bored of this and suggested they play something else.

The afternoon stretched on, warm and comfortable, as the rain continued to pour outside. Looking around at his friends, laughing, bickering and teasing each other, and at Joe at his side, Caspar found himself thinking that he could definitely get used to this.

 

*

 

“Hi, Caspar!” Arden greeted him cheerfully, when he arrived at the Black Book a few days later, having stopped off on his way back from the gym, as he usually did on the days Joe was working. She was in the middle of creating some sort of complicated design on the top of a latte. It looked like it might be a flower, or maybe a star.

Whatever it was, Caspar wasn’t entirely sure it would be appreciated by the harried looking customer waiting at the end of the bar. He had a stack of books and folders under one arm, and was tapping impatiently on the counter with his free hand.

Arden glanced up at Caspar. “Joe’s in the stockroom,” she said, “you can go back and say hi if you like.”

“You do realize he’s not allowed to do that,” Will said, appearing at her elbow, having finished with the customer he’d been serving. “He’s not an employee.”

Arden shrugged. Will looked between her and guy waiting at the end of the bar. “I think that’s enough, babe,” he said, carefully taking the cup from her hands.

“Wait, I’m not—”

“It looks lovely,” Will assured her.

“But I haven’t finished the last petal!”

“I know,” Will said, _sotto voce_ , “but if we don’t give that nice man his drink in the next five seconds, I think he might leap over the counter and take it himself.”

Arden glanced over at the customer. She pressed her lips together. “Hm,” she said, “okay. You might be right.”

They both watched as Will popped a lid on the cup and took it over to the man, who snatched it from his hands without even a _thank you_ and, the next second, was out the door like a particularly irritable whirlwind. It slammed behind him.

Arden looked back at Caspar, unfazed. “C’mon,” she said, lifting the hatch and gesturing for him to come through.

Will turned back to them, rolling his eyes when he saw Caspar behind the counter. “Alright,” he said, “ _fine_. But no sex in the stockroom, please.”

“Will!” Arden exclaimed, “he wouldn’t do that. Would you, Caspar?”

Caspar blinked. Well, that hadn’t been his plan, but now they’d put the thought in his mind — he shook his head, attempting to clear it. “No,” he said, “uh... no.”

“Convincing,” Will muttered.

“Don’t worry, _I_ know you wouldn’t,” Arden reassured him, as she pulled a panini out of the grill and plated it up. Glancing back at him, she added, smiling warmly, “I’m really happy for you both, y'know? You guys are sweet. And you’re like, a million times better than Matt." She made a face as she said the name, as if it had left a bad taste in her mouth.

Caspar frowned. “Who?”

Arden’s eyes widened briefly. “Matt, Joe’s ex. He... he hasn’t mentioned him?”

Caspar shook his head. "No... ?"

“Oh,” Arden said. “Well. Um. Never mind, then. Anyway, listen,” she glanced at Will, who was serving a customer, “you’d better go back there, before Will changes his mind. He is technically the floor manager, you know.”

“But—” Caspar started.

“Go on,” Arden said, encouragingly, giving him a little shove.

Caspar wanted to press her further, but she seemed to have realized she'd said something she wasn't supposed to, and he kind of doubted he'd get any more from her. It seemed like this was something he needed to ask Joe about.

It was — well, it was weird, though. When they'd spoken about past relationships, Joe had told him about the girls he'd dated in high school, and that had been it. Caspar had assumed he hadn’t been in a relationship since then — though, come to think of it, Joe had never actually said that outright.

The door to the stockroom was propped open by a stack of cardboard boxes that gave the somewhat worrying impression of being about to topple over at any moment. He found Joe near the back of the room. He was reaching for something on the top shelf, pushed up onto his tiptoes, one arm stretched upwards. Caspar momentarily forgot his thoughts, eyes drawn to the narrow strip of skin where Joe’s sweater had ridden up.

“D’you want me to get that?” He asked, after a moment.

Joe jumped a little, turning around. “Oh. Caspar, hey,” he said. He looked back up at the shelf, eyes narrowing a little, as if it had personally offended him. “Yeah, could you? Stupid ladder is broken.”

“Which one is it?” Caspar asked, looking at the row of boxes.

Joe pointed and Caspar pulled it down, handing it to Joe, who went to deposit it on the precarious looking pile by the door.

“Thanks,” he said, leaning up to give Caspar a quick kiss. Caspar caught him around the waist before he could pull away, tilting his face up and kissing him again, slipping his hands under Joe’s sweater. Joe shivered a little, pressing himself closer, mouth opening under Caspar’s.

“Seriously, guys?”

They both turned to see Will standing in the doorway. He was clearly trying to look annoyed, but Caspar saw one corner of his mouth twitch in amusement.

Joe stepped away from Caspar. His ears had gone slightly pink. “Sorry,” he said, “Caspar was just, um... helping me.”

Will snorted. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, with, uh, a box,” Caspar said, a little sheepishly. “It was high up.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the shelf.

“Sure,” Will said, “well, you two get points for the most creative way of getting a box down from a high shelf _I’ve_ ever seen. Sorry to interrupt, but I came back here to get some more takeaway cups — we’re nearly out.”

“I know,” Joe said, pointing to the box Caspar had just retrieved, “there they are.”

“Oh. Well, thanks,” Will said. He picked up the box and turned to leave, calling over his shoulder, “you might as well just go on your break now, Joe. It’s only ten minutes away, anyway.”

“Thanks!” Joe called after him.

“Anything to get you two out of there,” Will called back, “I don’t wanna have to disinfect all the surfaces.”

Joe stifled a laugh. “Sorry,” he said to Caspar, “he’s usually pretty chill, but whenever he goes into manager mode — I swear, it’s like he turns into someone’s disapproving mother.”

They made their way back out to the front. It was lunchtime now, and pretty crowded, but they managed to find a seat at one of the corner tables.

“Joe,” Caspar asked, once they’d sat down, “who’s Matt?”

Joe, who’d been about to take a sip of coffee, stilled, cup halfway to his mouth. After a moment, he put it back down on the table. “Uh,” he said, “he’s a guy I dated last year. Why?”

“It’s just... something Arden said, just now. She seemed kind of surprised that you hadn’t mentioned him to me.”

“I...” Joe started. He frowned down at his coffee. “Yeah, I was going to tell you about him — I mean, it’s really not a big deal.”

“Arden didn’t seem to like him very much.”

Joe let out a short laugh. “No,” he said, “no, none of my friends liked him very much. Or at all. He was... kind of a dick. He... uh, cheated on me.”

“Oh,” Caspar said, brows knitting together. “I... I’m sorry. He sounds like an asshole.”

“Yeah,” Joe said, “he was. Anyway, once I found out about it, I broke up with him.”

“How did you find out?” Caspar asked.

“Uh... one of his friends told me.” Joe looked down at the table, adjusting his glasses. He looked a little uncomfortable.

“That doesn’t sound like a very good way to find out.”

Joe shook his head. “No,” he said, glancing up at Caspar, “it wasn’t, really. But better than walking in on him, I guess.”

Caspar studied him for a moment, a little surprised at how... well, _furious_ he felt, with this guy that he didn’t even know, had never met. Joe was clearly trying to play this down, but there was no getting around the fact that it must have hurt him.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” He asked.

Joe shrugged, gaze still fixed on the table. “I — I dunno, I just. I mean — like I said, it's not a big deal. It was... a mistake. I’d kind of rather just forget about it, to be honest." Caspar watched as he ran one nail along the grain of the wood. Looking back up at Caspar, he added, "and anyway, it was a while ago now. We broke up back in spring.”

Caspar waited, wondering if there was more. But Joe seemed to be finished. The silence stretched on for several moments.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Caspar said, finally, “he really _does_ sound like an idiot. I mean — if he had you, and he messed it up like that.” He reached across the table, covering Joe’s hand with his, squeezing gently.

Joe squeezed back, giving him a small smile. “Thanks,” he said, quietly.

He still looked unhappy, though, and Caspar didn’t like it all. He felt, suddenly, a little frustrated with the distance between them. He wanted to reach across the table, wanted Joe closer, wanted to make him feel better, somehow.

After a moment, Joe slid his hand back. “So,” he said, “what are you doing the rest of the day?”

“Uh, not much,” Caspar replied, distractedly, “got a meeting with my academic advisor this afternoon.”

“Oh, about choosing a major?”

“Yeah, that and a few other things.”

“Have you thought about that any more?” Joe asked, “I mean, what you’re gonna pick?”

Caspar shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. “Not really.”

“Have you thought about Business?”

Caspar looked up at him, surprised. “Business?”

“Yeah,” Joe said, “I mean, you’re good at it, aren’t you?”

“I dunno. I guess so?”

“You said you did the best in that out of all your classes last semester,” Joe reminded him, “and remember when we met Zoe the other day, and you helped her with that case study? She was really impressed with that, you know.” He smiled at Caspar, proudly.

Caspar couldn’t help but return the smile. “She was?”

“Yeah,” Joe said, “she was.”

“Oh,” Caspar said, “I... I hadn’t really thought about it. I wasn’t — well, to be honest, I was never that great at the more, like, academic stuff in high school. I wouldn’t even have gotten in here if it wasn’t for football.”

“I wasn’t, either,” Joe said, “but maybe you should give yourself a little more credit. Zoe said you were really insightful. And she knows what she’s talking about.”

“Hey, guys,” Arden interrupted, looking apologetic. She was balancing a full tray on one hip. “Joe, would you mind coming back and helping out? You still have five minutes left, but it’s getting a little crazy over there.” She gestured with her free hand at the counter, and, following her gaze, Caspar could see a not inconsiderable queue beginning to form.

“Yeah,” Joe said, getting up, “‘course.”

Caspar stood, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “I’ll see you tonight?” He said.

Joe nodded. “Yeah. I finish here at six, so I’ll probably get to yours around half past.”

“Okay, cool,” Caspar said. He pulled Joe into a hug — and if it was maybe a little tighter than usual, well, his mind was still on their earlier conversation.

“Uh, Caspar...” Joe mumbled against his chest, after several moments, “I have to go.”

“Sorry,” Caspar said, sheepishly, letting him step back.

Joe looked up at him, frowning a little, as if confused by something. But all he said was, “good luck with the meeting. You should mention the Business thing.”

“I will,” Caspar said. He watched Joe make his way back over the counter, and then turned to leave.

He still couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was more to this thing with Matt than Joe had told him. It was just... something about the way he'd looked, the way he hadn’t quite been able to meet Caspar’s eyes.

Maybe he was just imagining things. If Joe said that’s all there was to it, he should probably just let it go. Caspar _had_ kind of blindsided him, after all — and maybe that was the reason he’d looked so uncomfortable. It was probably nothing.

And if it wasn't — if there _was_ something more to it... well, then, surely Joe would tell him, in time.

 

 

*

 

“Please,” Britt was saying imploringly to Will, “can we watch something with _actual_ dialogue this time?”

It was movie night.

Movie night, Caspar had learnt, took place a couple of times a month, depending on how busy everyone was. There’d been a few since he and Joe had started dating, but this was the first one Caspar had actually joined.

“Oh, no,” Joe had said, wrinkling his nose, when Caspar had asked if he could come earlier that day. “Honestly, you wouldn’t be into it. I don’t think _I’m_ even into it. It’s just like, an incredibly stressful version of Netflix and chill, with none of the chill — but, uh, well, they’re my friends and everything.”

Caspar had insisted, although now he wasn’t entirely sure that had been the right choice. He wasn’t opposed to the concept, in theory. But he _did_ find himself wondering why six people with such apparently vastly contrasting tastes would attempt to get together several times a month and agree on something to watch — and how the hell they’d ever managed in the past, for that matter, if tonight’s bickering was anything to go by.

Still, he got to spend time with Joe — who was currently next to him on the couch, leaning into Caspar a little, Britt on his other side. The couch really wasn’t big enough for three — not that Caspar minded at all.

“ _Le Quattro Volte_ is a cinematic masterpiece,” Will said, sounding huffy. “Sorry for trying broaden your horizons. Anyway, you guys have enjoyed the other ones I’ve picked, right?” He looked at Joe for support.

Dan, who was leaning against the opposite couch, hogging most of the cushions, as well as the blanket he was sharing with Phil, looked up from his phone and snorted. “Don’t look at Joe,” he said, “his favorite films are _Moulin Rouge_ and _Stardust_.”

“Hey!” Joe protested, “those are my favorite _guilty pleasure_ films. It’s totally different.”

“Yeah, sure it is,” Dan said. “Anyway,” he continued, “Phil was saying we should just carry on with _Attack on Titan_.”

“That’s not even a movie,” Will said, “you guys were technically breaking the rules when you picked that for your turn.”

“I second _Attack on Titan_ ,” Arden chipped in, “can we save it 'til later, though? The titans eating all those people is kinda off-putting when _I’m_ trying to eat.” At this she looked at Phil, who shrugged, and said, “fine with me.”

Will sighed. “I guess it would be too much to ask to get some support from my own girlfriend,” he said, looking at Arden with an exasperated, though still undeniably fond, expression.

Arden just grinned at him, unrepentant. “Whatever,” she said, her own expression equally fond, “you love me.”

In the end, to Caspar's amazement, they did all manage to agree on a film — just as the pizza arrived, in fact, so he couldn't really complain about the timing. And as a bonus, it not only had dialogue, but actually turned out to be pretty funny ("I _told_ you guys," Will had said, smugly, afterwards. "You all better trust me next time.")

"Is it always that, uh... argumentative?" He asked, later, as he and Joe lay side by side in bed, both still panting a little (once everyone had left, Britt had, conveniently, disappeared off to her room. Caspar kind of hoped she had earplugs, or headphones, of some kind).

"Mm," Joe mumbled, "yeah, pretty much. It's kind of tradition, at this point. Can't start anything without debating it for a good forty-five minutes first."

Caspar turned, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at Joe. “I had a good night, though,” he said.

Joe opened one eye and regarded Caspar a little skeptically. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. I actually liked the movie. Plus, your friends are cool. Especially Britt, she’s hilarious.”

Joe closed his eyes again, smiling a little. “Yeah,” he said, “she’s nearly as weird as you.”

“Hey,” Caspar protested. Then, considering, admitted, “well, yeah, I guess we both are. But like, in a good way, right?” He looked down at Joe.

“Mm-hm,” Joe said, eyes still closed.

“C’mon,” Caspar said, poking him in the shoulder, “don’t fall asleep. We should shower.”

“Why are you so energetic all of a sudden?” Joe grumbled, but he relented and followed Caspar to the bathroom, with only minimal complaining.

Climbing into bed afterwards, Caspar was pleased when Joe automatically snuggled up to him, resting his head on Caspar’s chest. It was one of his favorite ways for them to sleep, and he was pretty sure Joe felt the same (one time he had sleepily confided as he’d been about to drift off that he liked hearing Caspar’s heartbeat).

As he lay there, eyes tracing the faint cracks in the ceiling, one hand absentmindedly carding through Joe’s hair, he felt a warmth spreading through him, and he realized, all at once, that he was — god, he was really _happy_.

He said as much to Joe. Joe was silent for a few moments, long enough that Caspar wondered if he’d actually fallen asleep. Then, he said, quietly, “yeah. Yeah, me too.”

“I'm so glad I met you,” Caspar said, speaking his thoughts aloud, “and I’m _really_ glad you ran into me that day and spilled coffee all over me.”

“Hey,” Joe said, mildly, “thought you said that was _your_ fault.”

“Well, it kind of was. Plus, I guess I wanted it to be my fault, so I could buy you another one.”

“Oh, so that wasn’t a selfless act, then?" Joe teased.

Caspar laughed. “Nope. Not at all. Honestly...” he wondered, for a moment, how honest he should actually be here. Then decided, fuck it — he might as well tell the truth. “Honestly, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, ever since we first met. I was actually going to ask Alfie for your number, but I chickened out. So when I bumped into you, that day — well, it was pretty much the best thing ever."

“Oh,” Joe said. The teasing tone was gone now — and he sounded... surprised?

“So...” Caspar continued, “were you happy to see me again?” He knew he was fishing, but he couldn’t help it. He really wanted to know what Joe had been thinking.

Joe tensed a little in his arms. He was quiet for a few moments, long enough for Caspar to start worrying a little. “Um,” he said. His hand stilled where he’d been absently tracing shapes across Caspar’s skin. “Um, well, I kind of never told you... that, uh. I kind of saw you day before that. On the Friday.”

Well. _That_ hadn’t been what Caspar had been expecting. “What do you mean?” He asked, confused. “Did you see me on campus?”

“Uh, no. I kind of....” a few more moments’ silence, and _god_ , this was driving Caspar crazy! Finally, Joe finished, all in a rush, “ _Ikindofcametoyourpractise_.” He’d turned his face into Caspar’s neck now, so the words came out slightly muffled.

“You... you came to my practise?” Caspar said, nonplussed. “Why?”

Voice still muffled, Joe mumbled, “Zoe was talking about you. She said you were asking Alfie about me. And she thought you were interested in me... and then, I dunno, I went for a walk, and I just like... I just ended up there.”

“You... you came to see _me_?”

He felt Joe nod, his face still hidden in Caspar’s neck.

Caspar bit his lip, feeling inordinately pleased. So Joe _had_ been thinking about him, too.

"Say something, Caspar," Joe said. He sounded annoyed — and maybe a little worried, too.

"That's..." Caspar felt a grin spreading across his face. "Well, actually, that's kind of awesome."

At that, Joe finally moved, propping himself up a little on Caspar’s chest to stare at him. “What are you on about?” He said, looking at Caspar as if he was crazy. "It's not awesome. It's... it's kind of creepy, actually. I didn't even know you."

Caspar shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, maybe. But, well, I would've done the same, to be honest. Like, if I'd known where to find you."

“You... would?”

“Well... yeah. I mean, I wanted to see you again. A lot.”

Joe frowned at him. "You're weird."

"Hey, you're the one who stalked me at practise."

"Shut up. God, I'm gonna regret telling you that, aren't I?"

Caspar just shrugged, grinning. "I'm glad you did, though. I like the idea that you were thinking about me too, y'know?" He stroked a hand down Joe's arm. "So," he continued, after a moment, "did you enjoy the practise?” He tried to recall which one it had been — hm, the night before he’d bumped into Joe at The Black Book... well, he definitely recalled _that_ day pretty well. He laughed, abruptly, remembering.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, “that was when Alfie tipped that bottle of water over me." He grimaced. "It was so fucking cold as well, he’d gotten it out the freezer before he left the house. He thought he was pretty damn hilarious.”

“You remember that?” Joe asked.

“Yeah,” Caspar said, “‘cause Zoe was out that night, so he came over to ours after, and I got him back.”

“Oh, right,” Joe said. He didn’t ask what Caspar had done to get Alfie back — oddly, as Caspar had thought he’d ordinarily be pretty interested in that. Then, he recalled what he'd done immediately _after_ getting soaked, and grinned. “So,” he added, casually, “did you enjoy seeing me take my shirt off?”

Joe groaned. “Ugh, shut up.”

“Aw, Joe, don’t be embarrassed,” Caspar giggled, “I know I’m like, super hot.”

“I can’t believe you just called yourself _super hot_. You're such a fucking weirdo.”

“Mm-hm. You like it, though. _And_ you think I’m hot.”

“I did. Changed my mind now. Not anymore,” Joe said, huffily — though he ruined the effect by yawning widely.

Caspar laughed. “Oh, d’you want me to go then?”

“No,” Joe mumbled, tightening his arm a little where it lay across Caspar’s chest, “you can stay.”

Caspar smiled, pulling Joe closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Okay, then,” he said, “I’ll stay.”

  

*

 

“So,” Dan said, “it was good to finally meet Caspar properly the other night. He seems... nice.”

For once, they weren’t in the library. Joe had spent most of the morning in the studio, and he'd agreed to meet Dan at the coffee cart opposite the music building, since the arts and music buildings were fairly close to each other.

Joe took the coffee the barista handed him, thanking her before turning to face Dan, raising an eyebrow. “Nice?”

“Yeah...?” Dan said, “I mean, I guess so. I don’t know, shut up, I’m trying to be supportive!”

Joe laughed. He waited for Dan to pick up his own coffee, and they began to walk, no particular direction in mind. Though it was one of the last days before Christmas break, the weather apparently hadn’t gotten the memo, and though the skies were gray and cloudy, it was mild, almost warm.

They walked in a silence for a bit, until Dan spoke again. “You know...” he said, tilting his head to one side, “he kind of reminds me of a pineapple.”

“Sorry,” Joe said, turning to stare at him, “ _what_?”

“I mean, he kind of looks like a pineapple,” at Joe’s incredulous look, he continued, “like... his hair is the leaves, all sticky up... you know what I mean?”

Joe snorted with laughter. “Oh my god. I’m going to tell him you said that.”

“No, please don't,” Dan said, “I don’t want him to like, punch me.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he won’t. Well, probably not, anyway.”

“Comforting,” Dan said, “or, hey, here's a better idea — how about you _don't_ tell your jock boyfriend that I insulted his appearance?”

Joe tilted his head to one side, as if considering. “Nope,” he said, “I’m definitely telling him. But I’ll also tell him not punch you.”

“Wow, thanks, you’re such a good friend.”

Joe laughed. “Yeah, got your back, buddy.”

“I do like him, though,” Dan said, a little more seriously. “And so do you, clearly,” he added, looking sideways at Joe.

“Well, yeah... I mean, obviously?”

“No, I mean — the way you look at him...” Dan tried to explain, “it’s like...”

“Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know, like he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen.”

“Oh,” Joe said, a little surprised. He supposed — maybe, maybe that was kind of true. He wasn’t sure how he felt though, about it being so obvious to other people. Was it obvious to Caspar?

“Hey, don’t look like that — it’s a good thing, Joe. I mean, he looks at you the same way.”

“He... does?”

“Uh, yeah. Don’t know how you could’ve missed that,” he glanced at Joe, “oh my god, are you _blushing_?”

“No... shut up.”

“Wow, you actually are!” Dan laughed.

“Fuck off, Dan.”

“You know, you’re not very intimidating just now, buddy.”

“It will be _very_ intimidating when I hit you,” Joe growled.

Dan just laughed. “Wow, what is it with threats of bodily harm today. You know what, though, I got that one so much in high school, I feel like it’s kind of lost its effect.”

The conversation moved on to their respective high school experiences. Dan had hated it, Joe thought it had been alright, for the most part — he’d been reasonably popular, and he’d cared so much back then about fitting in, he hadn’t ever done anything that could’ve caused him the same issues Dan’d had.

Though he’d still loved art back then, he’d kept it a little quieter, and focused more on sports. It had also taken him until senior year to even admit to himself that he maybe, probably liked guys as well as girls, and he hadn't told anyone else until freshman year of college. And then — well, then he’d met Matt. And... he didn't really want to think about that right now.

He shook himself, and turned his attention back to Dan.

 

*

 

Caspar didn’t have anything against Christmas, really. Or family. He loved his family — he did. But right now, he’d had enough.

It was Christmas Eve. His aunt, uncle and cousins had arrived already arrived the previous day, and the house was feeling alarmingly full already — though even more relatives were due to arrive later that evening.

He’d decided to go for a run — not something he usually did, preferring the gym, but he’d seriously needed a breather from the relentless hustle and bustle of the house, and the near constant preparations. Every moment it seemed like his mom was shouting at him to do something or other, and though he loved his little cousins, they were also quite a handful.

As if to prove his point, he’d barely gotten back in the door before a tiny, blonde figure barrelled into him.

“Woah, Hannah,” he said, steadying her with one arm as he pulled his headphones out, “remember what we said, don’t run in the hall.”

She looked up at him, eyes bright and excited. “But — but Max is chasing me!”

Max skidded around the corner, coming to a stop when he saw Caspar and Hannah.

“Max also knows he’s not supposed to run in the hall,” Caspar said, sternly, “look,” he said, pointing at the floor, “it’s not carpet, it’s hard — if you fall, you could really hurt yourself.”

Two pairs of eyes regarded him with what Caspar was pretty sure was a complete and utter lack of concern. He sighed. “Alright, c’mon, let’s go see if can find your mom,” he said, reaching down to pick Hannah up. She giggled, pleased at this turn of events.

He couldn’t find his aunt, so he deposited Hannah and Max in the den, and, having elicited a somewhat dubious promise that they would stay there and that there would be no more running in the hall, outside, or anywhere else dangerous, he headed upstairs to his room.

“Caspar!” His mom called after him. She seemed to have appeared from nowhere, arms full of grocery bags. His sister was with her. “Caspar, have you made up the beds in the second guest room?”

“Yes, mom,” he called back.

“Did you put the new soap in the guest bathroom?”

“Yep!”

“Okay, can you come and help us with the groceries?”

Caspar sighed. “Yeah, okay.” Making his way back down the stairs, he messaged Joe. _Sorry can't talk til later :( It's nuts here._

He headed into the kitchen, but his mom just flapped a hand at him. "No, no," she said, "go get the ones in the porch."

Caspar made his way out to the porch, and groaned. Seriously, who the hell needed this many groceries?

“Jesus, mom,” he complained, as he lugged the first couple bags through to the kitchen, “did you buy out the whole store?”

His mom just tsked at him. "We have _guests_ , Caspar," she said, "and they need to eat."

"Sure," Caspar muttered, under his breath, "well, at least we'll be prepared if there's an unexpected zombie apocalypse in the night." He sighed, popping his headphones back in and pressing play on _The W_. This was obviously gonna take a while.

After unpacking what he was pretty sure _was_ a whole store’s worth of groceries, he ended up on Hannah and Max duty for an hour or so, and after that his grandparents and two more, older cousins arrived, and they all sat down to dinner.

It was only after everyone had finally gone to bed that he finally managed to retreat, alone, to his room. He’d was dialing Joe before he’d shut the door, having already messaged him to check he was still awake.

Joe picked up on the third ring. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Caspar replied, “sorry about earlier, it really is crazy here.”

“Yeah, god, sounds it. How many people did you say you had staying with you again?”

“Seven... uh, eight.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah... well, three of them are very small, to be fair. But it’s still more than last year, and we don’t quite have enough spare rooms, so we’re having to use the sofa bed in the living room as well. And the bathroom situation really isn’t great.”

“Wow, sounds like... fun?”

“Mm... I mean, it’s great to see everyone, don’t get me wrong. But it’s pretty full on. And I literally have like, no time to myself. At all,” he sighed, “anyway... how are you?”

“Yeah, m'good,” Joe said, “definitely a lot quieter here. It’s just been me, my dad and Zoe, until Alfie arrived earlier today.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s staying for Christmas, right?”

“Yeah, then he and Zoe are going to his parents’ for New Year.”

“So what did you do today?”

“Mm, not much. Saw friends from home in the afternoon. Had dinner with my dad, Zoe and Alfie. Zoe’s forcing us all to wear Christmas sweaters constantly.”

“Oh, really?” Caspar laughed.

“Yeah, she really gets into it. Did I ever tell you about the time she made me dress up as the Grinch?”

“No,” Caspar said, “but I think you’re gonna have to now.”

They spent a little longer talking about Zoe’s penchant for costumes, Christmas, and holidays in general — which had apparently caused Joe a fair amount of suffering over the years — and Caspar’s exciting day of chores and running around after Hannah and Max.

“Sounds like you’re good with them,” Joe said. His voice was a little muffled.

“Where are you?” Caspar asked, frowning, “you sound weird.”

“Huh? Oh, I think it’s the blanket, it’s covering the phone,” there was a rustling and then Joe’s voice became clearer again. “Sorry, it’s really cold here,” he said, “the heating doesn’t always reach this part of the house properly. Kinda... kinda wish you were here right now, actually.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, you and your freakishly high body temperature.”

Caspar laughed. “Oh, I see how it is. You only want me for my body temperature,” then, pausing, he admitted, softly, “wish I was there, too, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Caspar said, biting his lip, “you know how I said I don’t get any time to myself? Well, that’s been like, even worse than usual, this year, because... well, I’ve kind of been thinking about you, a lot.”

“What... mm, what have you been thinking about, exactly?" Joe asked. His voice had dropped several octaves, and Caspar felt his cock twitch in interest.

“Well... mainly about that last night, before I left,” Caspar said, remembering, “about — about sucking you off... the sounds you make. And about you riding me. That was... _fuck_ , that was so hot, Joe. I... I loved watching you fucking yourself on my cock. You looked... god, you looked so gorgeous like that.”

"God, Caspar..." Joe whispered. Caspar heard movement, heard his breathing speed up.

"Joe," he said, "tell me what you're doing."

Joe let out a breathy laugh. "Mm. I think you can guess."

“Oh, god, Joe,” Caspar groaned, reaching down to palm his dick through his sweatpants, “ _really_ fucking wish I was there.”

“Fuck, Caspar, me too,” Joe said, softly. "Want you to be here. Wanna do that again, want you to fuck me.” Caspar heard him swallow. “I — god, I want..." 

"What d’you want? Tell me."

“Want... want you to tell me what to do.”

Caspar licked his lips, feeling a sharp jolt of arousal. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Joe said, “yeah, like... like how you’d do it if you were here.”

“Fuck, yeah, okay,” Caspar said, hoarsely, “can you — d’you have lube?”

There was a pause, and he heard more rustling, followed by a familiar sounding click. “Mm-hm."

“Okay,” Caspar murmured, “alright, just — one finger. Circle your hole, nice and slow for me.”

He heard Joe’s breath hitch. “O-okay.”

“Does that feel good?”

“Yeah,” Joe said, breathlessly.

“Alright, want you — want you to push it inside now. But keep it slow, okay? You can keep jerking off, too,” he added after a moment, not sure if Joe was waiting to be told.

He heard Joe moan and he swore. He reached down, slipping beneath his sweatpants and finally getting a hand on his cock, so hard now it was aching, precome leaking from the tip smoothing the way as he began to jerk himself.

“Okay,” he said, “when you’re ready, you can add another.”

“I—I’m ready,” Joe said, “oh — oh, god, Caspar—”

“Ah, _Joe_ ,” he groaned, fisting his cock faster, “can you—can you fuck yourself for me, baby?”

Joe whimpered, his breath coming in short little pants. “Yeah, y-yes—oh, _fuck_ —”

“Fuck, Joe — I’m, god — I don’t think I’m gonna last very long.”

“Me neither,” Joe gasped, “I’m—oh—I’m close.”

“Yeah?" Caspar breathed. "You gonna come for me, baby? Wish, god, wish I could see you right now, you’re so beautiful when you come—”

Joe let out a low, slightly muffled moan. “Oh — oh, Caspar — I-I’m gonna—”

It didn’t take much more than imagining Joe, cheeks flushed, panting, desperately trying to keep quiet as he fucked himself on his own fingers, before Caspar felt his own orgasm building, hand stripping his cock until he was coming, hard, long, white spurts hitting his stomach. He vaguely registered that he was saying Joe’s name, heard a soft gasp and a choked off moan from the other end of the phone.

“Joe,” he managed to get out, when he’d got his breath back a bit, “fuck, that was good. Was that good for you?”

“Mm, yeah,” Joe said, still sounding a little dazed. He laughed faintly. “Why, you looking for feedback?”

“Yeah, I’ll send you a form to fill out,” Caspar said, dryly. With some effort, he leaned over and grabbed a tissue to clean off his stomach.

“You do that,” Joe said.

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, until Joe spoke again. “I... I miss you,” he said, softly.

“I miss you, too,” Caspar sighed, “really wanna be there with you right now.” He paused, biting his lip, fully aware of what he was implying as he added, “maybe... maybe, next year, we could visit each other?”

There was a pause, then Joe said, quietly, “yeah... yeah, that would be — that sounds good.”

“Good,” Caspar echoed, a pleasant warmth unfurling in his chest. He yawned, glancing at the clock on his dresser. “Oh, hey,” he said, “it’s just gone midnight. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Joe said, laughing, “gotta say, that was a pretty good start.”

“It definitely was,” Caspar agreed, adding, reluctantly, “I should probably go, though. Pretty sure I’m gonna get a wake up call at like, latest six AM, from Hannah and Max. But let’s talk tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Joe yawned, “‘course. Text me when you’re free.”

“‘Kay. Night, Joe.”

“Night, Cas,” Joe mumbled, sounding as if he was about to fall asleep.

Caspar ended the call and rolled over, smiling to himself as his eyes slipped closed. As he drifted off to sleep, he found himself hoping that this time next year, Joe would be with him.

 

*

 

“Ugh,” Joe groaned, leaning back against the couch, “I’m never eating again.”

“Me neither,” Zoe agreed, “that was enough food like, forever.”

“You guys are pathetic,” Alfie said, “it wasn’t even that much.”

They’d finished Christmas dinner and were now sitting around in the living room, _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ on the TV in the background (“Are we seriously watching this _again_?” Alfie had asked. “Yes,” Zoe said, firmly, “it’s tradition.”)

Harry was stalking Malfoy around Hogwarts when their dad poked his head around the door, wanting help setting up the new laptop they’d all chipped in to buy him for Christmas.

“Sorry, can’t move,” Joe said.

“I’m watching the movie,” Zoe said, without looking up from her phone.

“Right, not like you’ve seen it five hundred times this Christmas alone,” Alfie said. When that got no response, he rolled his eyes, looking up at Joe and Zoe's dad. “I’ll help you."

“ _Thank you_ , Alfie,” their dad said, pointedly, as Alfie got up. Joe and Zoe ignored him and he huffed, giving up, and followed Alfie out.

A couple of minutes passed, and then Zoe turned to him. “So,” she said, “how’s Caspar?”

“He’s good,” Joe said.

“Oh, that’s it?” Zoe asked, raising an eyebrow, “he’s good? You were talking to him for like, two hours earlier.”

“Mm,” Joe agreed. He couldn’t really protest, since it was true.

“Come on, Joe, we haven’t really had a chance to talk. How's it going with you guys?”

“It’s...” Joe said, looking sideways at his sister, mouth turning up a little at the corners, “... good.”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying,” Zoe complained. She tried to hit him on the shoulder, but, unwilling to move far enough to reach, just ended up flailing her arm somewhat ridiculously. Joe laughed at her and she stuck her tongue out at him.

They both turned their attention back to the movie for a couple of minutes, and then Joe said, without looking at her. “Alright... if you really want to know — I, well, I kind of miss him.”

He glanced at Zoe to see she was grinning. “Aw, Joe!”

“Oh, shut up,” Joe complained, half heartedly, “god, why do I bother telling you anything.”

“What? It’s cute!”

“It’s not _cute_."

“It _so_ is. And,” she added, smile a little less amused and more genuine, “I’m really happy for you both. I think it’s great.”

“Thanks, Zo."

They lapsed into silence, and Joe thought the conversation was over until Zoe spoke again. “Joe...” she started, biting her lip.

“What?” He asked, frowning, not particularly liking her tone.

“Have you... have you told Caspar about Matt?”

“What do you mean?”

“Joe, come on,” Zoe said. She put down her phone. “Don’t make this difficult. You know exactly what I mean.”

“I mean... yeah, I’ve told him,” Joe said, hoping she would let the subject drop.

“Right... and what, exactly, have you told him?”

“I told him that... that I was dating this guy before him, that he cheated on me, and I broke up with him.”

Zoe raised an eyebrow. “That’s _all_ you've told him?”

Joe nodded, avoiding her gaze.

“Joe,” she said, “You’re... kind of missing a few details, there. Just... don’t you think — I mean, if this is getting more serious—”

“Who says it is?”

Zoe gave him a look. “Well, isn’t it?”

“I...” Joe started, his mind going back to Caspar’s words the previous night. _Maybe, next year, we could visit each other._ Caspar thought they’d be together next year, he... he wanted them to be.

And Joe... well, he hadn’t thought that far ahead — in fact, he’d kind of actively tried _not_ to. But when Caspar had brought it up, he’d realized just how much he wanted that, too. Enough that it maybe scared him a little.

And then there was how much time they’d been spending together before Christmas break... and how much he missed Caspar now — more than he’d thought he would. A lot more.

“... I—I guess it is,” he finished, somewhat reluctantly.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Zoe said, “and if it is, I think... I think you’re going to have to talk to him, sometime. Seriously, don’t you — don’t you think he deserves to know? I mean, imagine it was the other way around, and he was keeping something like that from you — how would you feel?”

He bit his lip. When she put it like that...

He was saved from having to reply by Alfie reappearing in the doorway. Joe didn’t think he’d ever been so glad to see him in his life.

“Right,” Alfie said, throwing himself into the armchair, “got your dad all set up. Thanks _so_ much for your help, guys.” He paused, looking between the two of them. “Did I miss something?” He asked, frowning.

“Nah,” Joe told him, shaking his head, “just — arguing about which is the best _Harry Potter_ movie.”

“Oh... I thought that was one thing you guys actually agreed on,” Alfie said.

Zoe shot Joe a look. “Guess we’re not agreeing on anything today,” she said.

Joe sighed. “I’ll... I’ll think about it, Zoe, alright?” He said.

“Good,” she told him, “because I think you know I’m right about this.” She looked as if she was going to say something else but, glancing at Alfie, seemed to change her mind.

Joe tried to refocus his attention on the movie, but his mind was elsewhere. The thing was... if he was really honest with himself, he could admit Zoe was probably right — an annoying habit of hers. He _had_ left out a few things, when he’d told Caspar about Matt. Or... a lot of things.

It was just... it had been so long ago, now — seven months. Seven months was a long time. Was it really worth bringing everything up again?

Things with Caspar were good — _really_ good. He didn’t want to do anything mess that up. And... well, maybe he also couldn’t stand the thought that Caspar would look at him differently. That the little, nagging voice in the back of his mind, the one he’d been trying to ignore — the one which told him that this whole thing was too good to be true, that it wouldn’t last — would turn out to be right. That Caspar — that he’d get sick of Joe. Just like... just like Matt.

He tried to tell himself it was different, this time. That Caspar and Matt were different people. That what had happened with Matt hadn’t been _his_ fault. But... he didn’t know if he felt sure enough to test that theory.

And besides, what he’d told Caspar _was_ the truth. It was just... an abbreviated version.

He tried not to think about the fact that, the longer he let Caspar continue believing that version of the truth, the more it began to feel like a lie.

 

*

 

“Ugh,” Caspar groaned, flopping back against the couch, knocking off several textbooks in the process, “I fucking hate January.”

Joe looked up from his sketchbook, raising an eyebrow. “I think everyone hates January,” he said.

“No, but I _really_ do,” Caspar insisted. "There is just way too much shit to do. And I've got _another_ meeting with my academic advisor tomorrow, and I bet she's gonna wanna talk about picking a major."

Joe pressed his lips together, wanting to mention the Business thing again, but unwilling to be the one to bring it up.

Caspar glanced at him. "I know what you're gonna say. And, I dunno, maybe you're right. Maybe I should just pick that and get it over with."

"Okay, so why _don't_ you? You're good at it, Caspar, I don't know why you keep going back and forth on this—"

Caspar blew out a breath. "It's just, it's easy for you to say," he said, sounding frustrated, "you're fucking amazing at what you do. And I mean, you always have been, haven't you? Since you were a kid. But I never — I just. It's not so _obvious_ for everyone, Joe."

Joe bit his lip, feeling a tiny pinprick of irritation. He wanted to disagree — they'd had this conversation before, a few times, now. But no matter what he said, Caspar didn't seem to want to listen to him. After a moment, he shrugged. "Alright, then. Sorry I said anything."

Dumping the remainder of textbooks and notes and the floor, Caspar got up from the couch and stretched. "And seriously," he said, "how fucking fair is it to have the playoffs, and exams, _and_ three essays due, all in the same month?"

“Right, yeah," Joe said, unable to resist rolling his eyes a little, "the hard life of a college athlete.”

“It _is_ hard, Joe,” Caspar said, a little sharply.

“I know, I know,” Joe said. “I just...” he trailed off, not really sure he wanted to continue this conversation.

“Just... what?”

“I mean, your professors will probably go easy on you, with the essays at least, right?”

It was true, after all. Because, yeah, even the athletes did have _some_ academic standards to uphold — but there was definitely leeway, particularly with some professors. And with the teams that actually did well — of which the football team was definitely one, and especially this year, since they'd already made it to the semi finals.

Caspar frowned. “What, so I shouldn’t even bother trying?”

“No... no, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What _did_ you mean, then?”

“I don’t know... nothing,” Joe said, putting his hands up. “I’m gonna make coffee,” he said, putting his sketchbook to one side and getting up, “d’you want anything?”

“No, thanks,” Caspar said. He was still frowning. “Just... why do you always do this, Joe?” At Joe’s questioning look, he continued, “every time we disagree about something, you just... like, back down, immediately.”

Joe paused. “That’s not —” he started, “I — it’s not every time.”

“No,” Caspar said, slowly, “but you do it a lot.”

“It’s—it’s nothing, Caspar. I just don’t like arguing.”

“Okay... but, why? You know you don’t, like... always have to agree with me, right?”

“Of course I know that.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” Joe said, crossly, “I’m disagreeing with you right now, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but—” Caspar started.

Joe shook his head, starting towards the kitchen again, irritated that Caspar hadn’t dropped this already. It was stupid. He didn’t — he didn’t just agree with Caspar about everything!

Caspar followed him into the kitchen. “Joe,” he said, sounding annoyed now, “can you — could you not walk out when I’m trying to talk to you?”

Joe didn’t turn around, pulling the coffee jar out of the cupboard.

“Are you seriously ignoring me right now?” Caspar demanded.

“Caspar, just — just fucking drop it, okay!” Joe snapped, whirling around.

“I don’t _want_ to drop it!” Caspar said, voice rising. He stepped forward abruptly, right into Joe’s space. And... and Joe couldn’t help it — without thinking about it, he flinched backwards, started to bring one arm up to shield his face.

It was only a split second, before he realized, and dropped it — but it was too late. There was no way Caspar could’ve missed it.

He hadn’t. He froze, staring at Joe. “Joe...” he started, “did you...” He swallowed. “You thought... you thought I was going to hit you.”

“No, I didn’t,” Joe said, quickly.

“You know I’d never... I’d _never_ do that, right?”

“I know.”

“Then why—”

“It was — it was nothing, Caspar,” Joe insisted. “It was just, like... instinct. It didn’t mean anything,” he finished. Because... it was true, wasn’t it? He didn’t think Caspar would do that.

“I don’t..." Caspar said slowly, brows knitting together, "I don’t know if I believe you."

“Caspar... I—” Joe started. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to explain himself, not without... not without bringing everything up. And he didn’t — he couldn’t do that. Not right now. Not with Caspar looking at him like that. Like there was something _wrong_ with him. “Look, just... leave it, alright?” He said, finally. “It doesn’t matter.”

Caspar was still frowning. “It matters to me,” he said. “Joe, you... you need to tell me if I’ve... if I’ve _ever_ done anything to make you think I would—”

“No,” Joe cut him off, sharply, “no, Caspar, that’s not — you haven’t.”

“Okay,” Caspar said, “okay, so then why—”

Joe made a frustrated noise. “I _told_ you, it’s nothing.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

“I... I want to believe you," Caspar said, mouth twisting unhappily, "but you’re being—I dunno... you're being weird right now.”

“What do you mean?” Joe said, wincing when the words came out a little sharper than he’d intended, a little more defensive.

“That... well, that’s exactly what I mean,” Caspar said. “Joe, you know... you know you can talk to me, right? About anything?”

“Yeah, of course,” Joe said, automatically.

“Really?” Caspar asked, “because I... well, sometimes I'm not sure you do.” At Joe’s questioning look, he added, “it’s just — I don’t know how to explain it, but sometimes it feels like — like you... edit. Like you leave things out. It's like you won’t tell me what you’re really thinking, and honestly, it kind of drives me crazy."

Joe opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. He felt something twist uncomfortably in his chest as he realized that Caspar had noticed more than he’d thought. Much more.

“Is that...” Caspar tried, when Joe remained silent, “am I right about that?”

“Caspar, please, just — just leave it.”

Caspar shook his head. “That’s not an answer. God, Joe... why — why can’t you just _talk_ to me?” His shoulders were slumped, his forehead creased with worry, and Joe felt a painful surge of guilt. 

“I...” Joe swallowed, “I don’t...” 

“Joe, please,” Caspar said, “just give me _something_ here.”

“Caspar...”

“ _Please_?”

“No!” Joe snapped, the anxiety tightening his chest edging closer to something that felt a lot like panic. He couldn’t deal with this right now. Didn’t know how to. Didn’t know how to convince Caspar to drop the subject, not without outright lying to him. And he didn’t want to do that ( _yeah, except you already have, haven’t you,_ chimed in the helpful little voice in the back of his head). 

“No?” Caspar repeated, frowning. “What does that mean?”

“It means I want you to leave it. Like I’ve asked you to a million times.”

“So... so that’s it? You really won’t talk to me? About any of this?”

“Jesus, Caspar,” Joe bit out, “there’s nothing to talk about, alright? So would you please just fucking _drop it_ already.”

Caspar’s eyes widened. He looked hurt, and Joe felt another stab of guilt. He didn't want this. Didn't want Caspar to look like that. But he also wanted, desperately, for the conversation to be over. 

“Joe...”

“Caspar, look just—just _stop_ , alright? Leave me alone.”

Caspar was silent for a moment. “Fine." He drew in a sharp breath. “ _Fine_. If that’s really what you want.”

“It is.”

Caspar let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, you’ve made that pretty clear. I... I just, I don't—I don’t _understand_ —" he trailed off, gaze fixed on Joe, as if willing him to say something. Joe looked away. After a moment, Caspar shook his head. “Alright, fine,” he said, “you know what? You want me to stop, I'll—I'll fucking stop, okay? I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want so goddamn much.” He began to gather his books, shoving them in his backpack.

“Caspar,” Joe started, a horrible realization beginning to creep over him. He followed Caspar into the hall, “wait... don’t—”

“No,” Caspar cut him off, without turning to look at him. “You’ve said enough.” He yanked open the door. “God, I just... I can’t do this, Joe. I can’t deal with this right now, not on top of everything else.”

“Caspar—”

But it was too late. The door slammed behind him, hard, and Joe flinched.

He stared at the door, numbly. His legs didn’t seem to want to support him anymore, and, only vaguely registering what was happening, he slid to the floor.

Half an hour ago, everything had been fine. And now... now Caspar was gone. He'd — god, he'd fucked everything up, hadn't he? Just like he'd been afraid he would. He wasn't sure why he was even surprised. Deep down, a part of him had been expecting this. Things had been going well — too well. It couldn’t last.

Staring blankly at the wall opposite, he blinked rapidly, wondered if he was going to cry. But no tears came. There was just... nothing.

Caspar was gone. It was over. And it was all his fault.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [wiseplant](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wiseplant) for betaing! Again, any remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Also, just to be on the safe side, please note this part contains some discussion of and references to mental health issues.

_The bar was crowded and noisy, and the music was, at best, questionable. The floors and tables were sticky, and trying to get a drink had involved being elbowed so many times he was pretty sure he was going to have bruises tomorrow morning._

_None of it bothered Joe in the slightest._

_He was a month into his first semester of freshman year—at his dream school, no less—and things were going... well, pretty great, actually. In between settling in, making new friends, and trying to figure out a precarious balance between partying and classes (a balance that was definitely tipped in favor of the former at the moment) it felt as though he’d barely had time to stop and take a breath. It was all a little crazy—but still, fun._

_So, yeah. Life was good. Even if the beer was warm, and he’d already spilled some of it attempting to extricate himself from the mass of people crowding the bar._

_Realizing he probably wasn’t going to get anywhere until at least some of these people cleared out, he stopped, taking a swig of warm beer and attempting to enjoy the music—it sounded a lot like someone had, inexplicably, taken it upon themselves to make a compilation featuring the worst, long forgotten (and for good reason) songs of the seventies and eighties._

_“Looks like we’re stuck here,” came a voice to his left. Joe looked up to see a girl with blonde hair streaked with blue and an impressive amount of eyeliner._

_“Seems like it,” he replied, shrugging. “Is it always this bad?”_

_“Pretty much,” she said, “it’s cheap, and they hardly ever check IDs, which is pretty much a surefire way to do good business around here. Honestly, I’m surprised they haven’t been shut down yet.”_

_Joe nodded, and she cocked her head to one side, regarding him. “So, are you a freshman?”_

_Joe laughed a little. “Is it that obvious?”_

_She laughed, too. “Well, you don’t seem to know that Friday night is literally_ the _worst time to come to Dante’s. Plus, you do have that shiny, new look about you.”_

_“Uh, well, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Joe said. He wondered if she was flirting with him. It definitely wouldn’t be a bad thing if she was, he thought. She was cute._

_He was about to ask her why she was here, if she knew this was the worst time to come, when she was distracted by a voice from across the bar._

_“Anna! Hey!” Joe turned to see a guy elbowing his way through the people around them._

_“Hey, buddy,” Anna said, when he finally reached them, “you’re really fucking late, y’know.” She didn’t sound particularly put out. Or surprised, for that matter._

_“Sorry,” he said, shrugging, “got caught up at the studio, you know how it is.” He grimaced. “God, the music’s always so fucking shit in here.”_

_“You’re the one who wanted to come,” Anna said. “And now,” she continued, bracelets jangling as she gestured towards the bar with one hand—it was starting to look a little less crowded than it had been, “you owe me a drink for making me wait.”_

_“In a minute,” he replied. He was looking at Joe. “Hey,” he said, “I’m Matt.”_

_“Joe,” Joe replied, swallowing a little. Matt was... definitely not bad to look at. (Okay, Joe could admit it... he was hot.)_

_Anna rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind me,” she muttered, “just dying of thirst here.”_

_“I’ll get you a drink,” Joe offered._

_She smiled. “Thanks. That’s sweet of you. But it’s alright.” she glanced at Matt, “I’ll get it myself.” She held her hand out, palm up, and Matt deposited his wallet onto it._

_She moved off, leaving Joe with Matt. “So,” Joe said, after a moment, recalling Matt’s mention of being stuck in the studio, “are you an art major?”_

_Matt shook his head. “Architecture. You?”_

_“Oh, I haven’t gotten that far yet,” Joe said, “but I was thinking... maybe, studio art.”_

_“Yeah, I know a few people on the program,” Matt said, “it’s a pretty good one.”_

_Joe nodded. He knew that. In fact, the program was considered one of the best in the country. It had actually been one of the main reasons he’d chosen this school._

_“So,” Matt said, inclining his head and fixing Joe with an intense gaze—his eyes were very green, Joe couldn’t help but notice. “Top three favorite artists. Go.”_

_“Uh...” Joe’s mind went blank for a second, before he recovered himself. “Kandinsky, Hopper... and Jean-Michel Basquiat.”_

_Matt nodded, looking approving. “Basquiat is an interesting choice. Gotta say, though, I do find Hopper a bit derivative myself.”_

_Joe just shrugged, noncommittally (because, in all honesty, he wasn’t entirely sure what that word meant)._

_They talked for a bit longer, until Anna returned with she and Matt’s drinks, and he realized how long he’d been gone._

_“Shit,” he said, “I’d better go, my friends are probably wondering what happened to me.”_

_Anna nodded. “Nice to meet you, Joe,” she said._

_“You too, have a good night,” he said, turning to go. He felt a hand on his arm. It was Matt._

_“Before you go,” Matt said, “how about I take your number? If that’s alright, of course,” he added, almost as an afterthought._

_Joe blinked at him, too surprised for a moment to say anything. It wasn’t that he didn’t find Matt attractive—he did. And, okay, maybe in retrospect, they_ had _been flirting for the past few minutes. And maybe he’d felt a little thrill at that—but that had been it, he’d thought._

_But then... why should it be?_

_It had taken him a while to admit to himself that he maybe, possibly, definitely wasn’t one hundred percent straight (or even, really, fifty percent) and even then, it had been something he’d kept to himself during high school._

_Because even if the small town he’d grown up in wasn’t, by most standards, all that conservative, it was just still just that—a small town. And anything outside of the bland, cookie cutter mold of uniform ordinariness tended to attract attention. And in the end, it had just been easier to keep quiet, to be what other people expected him to be._

_He’d told himself, though, that once he got to college, it would be different._

_And it was. No one here had any preconceptions about him. Nobody expected him to act a certain way, to fit into a neat little box._

_His parents and Zoe knew, now, too (actually, Zoe had been pretty mad that he hadn’t told her before). And while he hadn’t made it a point to, like, announce it, or anything, to the people he’d met so far, he didn’t lie or avoid the topic when it did come up. And, okay, so maybe there would still be people who would judge him for it—but he was done caring. Done trying to pretend a part of himself didn't exist, just because it made other people feel more comfortable._

_So, really, why_ shouldn’t _he give this hot guy his number?_

_He couldn’t find a single good reason._

_“Yeah,” he said, as Matt pulled his phone, “sure.”_

 

* 

 

Caspar pushed his way through the mass of bodies filling Conor and Jack’s too small apartment. He couldn’t see Joe anywhere.

He pulled out his phone. Maybe he should just call. Probably he should’ve just done that in the first place.

After their fight, Caspar had gone home and attempted to study for an extremely unproductive half hour, before finally giving up and heading to the gym. He hadn’t even gotten halfway through his workout before the anger had receded enough that he’d begun to feel guilty about how he’d acted. He could admit now that storming out in a huff like that hadn’t exactly been a mature way of dealing with things. But he’d just been— _frustrated_. And hurt.

He kept thinking back over all the times that Joe had dropped a subject, or agreed with him about something — even things as simple as what movie to watch, where to order in from, whether to go out that night — when, looking back, he’d just been... what had he been trying to do, exactly? What did he think, that Caspar would throw a tantrum like a five-year-old if he didn’t get his way?

The image of Joe flinching away from him, like he really thought Caspar would hurt him, was burned into his brain. And he still didn’t believe Joe when he’d said it had been nothing.

He just wished... he wished Joe would talk to him. Would tell him what was going on, instead of forcing Caspar to try and guess. But still... it wasn’t really fair of Caspar to try and make him, when he so obviously didn’t want to.

But then, _why_ didn’t he? It was... well, it was starting to feel an awful lot like Joe didn’t trust him, and the thought stung.

By the time he’d finished at the gym, it had already been evening, and about the time he and Joe had been planning to head over to Conor and Jack’s. He’d thought about calling, but he’d been worried Joe might not pick up. He had every right to be mad at Caspar, after all.

Still, if he wasn’t here — he was about give up and dial Joe, when he spotted a familiar head of bleach blonde hair.

“Jack!” He called.

Jack turned back. “Caspar! Hey, buddy!” He said, grinning. He had a bottle of vodka in each hand.

Caspar raised an eyebrow. “Those both for you?”

“Nah, just this one,” Jack said with a laugh, lifting the bottle in his right hand.

“Nice,” Caspar nodded, distractedly, “hey, have you seen Joe?”

“Uh... yeah, I think I saw him in the kitchen.”

“Thanks!” Caspar said, turning back towards the kitchen. He’d been going the opposite direction.

He managed to elbow his way back through to the kitchen. He scanned the room — it was pretty packed, unsurprisingly, given that it was the location of the drinks — before, finally, he spotted Joe. And felt his heart drop.

Joe was in the corner, on the opposite side of the room, pressed up against the kitchen counter by a tall, dark-haired guy — and they were kissing. Enthusiastically, it looked like.

Caspar felt like he’d just been punched in the stomach. The next thing he knew, he’d crossed the room and was pulling the guy away from Joe, with perhaps more force than entirely necessary.

“Hey! What the hell, man?” The guy sputtered. Caspar ignored him.

Joe blinked at him, swaying slightly in place. “Caspar?”

“Joe, what the fuck?” He hissed.

Joe swallowed. “Caspar...” he said, “I—”

“What the hell is _wrong_ with you?” Caspar demanded.

“Caspar—I—it’s not—”

“You know what, Joe,” Caspar said, “I don’t wanna hear it. Whatever explanation you have for this, it’s not gonna be good enough. I’m just... I’m done. I’m _so_ fucking done.” He drew in a sharp breath. “I’m leaving.”

“Caspar,” Joe called after him, “wait—”

Caspar didn’t turn around, pushing his way back through the party, ignoring the protests when he elbowed a few people a little too hard. He just wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.

After what felt like an age, he reached the front door, pushing it open and stumbling outside, taking in deep lungfuls of cold air. He began to walk, barely even stopping to think about where he was going.

He just — god, he couldn’t believe Joe would do this. After _one_ fight — their first fight, actually. Was that really how little he thought of their relationship? Didn’t it mean _anything_ to him?

Caspar had been so confident that they both felt the same way, both wanted the same things. But apparently, he’d been wrong.

Because it seemed like Joe didn’t feel the same way. At all. And maybe—maybe the reason he wouldn’t talk to Caspar wasn’t because he didn’t trust him, but because he didn’t see the point, when he didn’t see a future for them.

 _That’s not true_ , a little voice in the back of his head piped up, _he feels the same way, you_ know _he does_.

But if that was true, then how could Joe turn around and do something like this?

 

* 

 

“Caspar, wait—”

But Caspar was already leaving. Joe tried to follow, but he was moving too fast, and it wasn’t long before Joe lost sight of him amongst the crowd.

“What the fuck man, you didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” the guy had appeared at his elbow. Joe didn’t even know his name.

“I... I don’t,” Joe said, still looking around for Caspar.

 _And you didn’t exactly give me much of a chance,_ he added, silently. One minute, they’d been talking, and the next, he was being pushed against the kitchen counter as the guy had all but attacked his mouth. It had taken Joe several, long seconds to even register what was happening, alcohol making his brain feel fuzzy and slow.

“Kinda seems like that dude thinks differently,” the guy said.

Joe’s head was spinning. He tried to remember how many drinks he’d had. It had been... quite a lot. He’d started before he’d gotten here. He felt sick, suddenly. _Really_ sick.

“Gotta go,” he mumbled, pushing past the guy and trying to remember where the bathroom was in Jack and Conor’s place.

He found it just in time. He dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, retching, but all he could bring up was bitter, clear liquid, and he remembered, belatedly, that he’d barely eaten anything that day.

He collapsed back onto the bathroom floor. After a few moments, he closed his eyes, because the lights were too bright and the room wouldn’t stop spinning, which was starting to make him feel sick again.

He wanted to go home. He wanted... he wanted Caspar.

But he’d fucked everything up. Again. Except this time, he wasn’t even sure why Caspar was so angry. They’d—they’d broken up, hadn’t they? Why did Caspar even care?

Someone knocked on the door, but Joe ignored it. He wanted to be anywhere but here. He wanted everything to stop spinning. He wanted to stop feeling sick.

He wanted to be sober — but at the same time, he _really_ fucking didn’t, because then he’d have to feel everything which was currently dulled by the alcohol. 

So, yeah. On second thought, he’d take nausea over having to deal with any of that.

 

*

 

Joe awoke to an insistent knocking.

Groaning, he buried his head under the pillow, desperately trying to get away from the painfully loud sound. It felt like someone was smacking him in the head with a hammer.

“Joe!”

“Go away,” he mumbled, then winced at the sound of his own voice. He swallowed. His mouth felt dry.

“Joe! Come on, open the door!” It was, he realized, Zoe’s voice.

What was Zoe doing here? He opened one eye and squinted at the clock on the nightstand — it was just gone half nine. Oh, yeah — they’d agreed Zoe would come over at this time, and they’d go and get breakfast together before heading to the library.

With that, he recalled the other events of the past twenty-four hours, and felt a sharp pang in his chest, followed by an intense, rising nausea.

A few seconds later, he was scrambling out of bed, throwing open the door and pushing past Zoe in his haste to get the bathroom.

He tried to throw up, but couldn’t. He managed to spit a few times, before rinsing his mouth out. He pulled open the bathroom door to find Zoe right outside.

“Jesus, Joe,” she said, “you look awful.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled. His voice sounded hoarse and scratchy, as if he hadn’t used it in years.

Her expression softened. “Britt told me what happened.”

“How does she know?” He asked, frowning, as he stumbled past her back to his room, climbing back into bed and pulling the covers up. He really didn’t want to be awake right now.

Zoe followed him, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Don’t you remember? Britt said she found you at Conor and Jack’s last night, and you told her that Caspar... that he broke up with you.” Joe drew in a sharp breath, surprised at just how much it hurt to hear her say the words. “She said you were completely out of it, so she brought you back here,” Zoe finished.

Joe didn’t reply, rolling away from her to face the wall. He hoped she would go away. He just wanted to go back to sleep, and pretend none of this was happening.

“It’s just...” Zoe sounded confused, “I can’t believe Caspar would do this. It’s not like him. And I thought, I mean, I _knew_ that he really liked you.”

“Guess you were wrong,” Joe said, without looking at her.

“I just, I don’t think I was,” Zoe said. “What did... Britt said you told her you and Caspar had a fight. What did you fight about?”

“Zoe, please... I don’t want to talk about this,” Joe said, “I just... I want to be alone right now.”

“But it just doesn’t make _sense_ , Joe,” she said, “maybe... maybe I could talk to him. Just to see why—”

Joe sat up. “No!” he said, “no, Zoe, just leave it, alright?” He felt panicked, suddenly. He didn’t want Zoe prying into this. Didn’t want her finding out that she’d been completely right—that Joe... that he’d messed everything up.

“But I just—”

“Zoe, I said _no_! God, don’t you think you’ve done enough already?” He snapped.

Zoe’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell closed. She looked hurt, and Joe regretted his words almost instantly.

Because it wasn’t really fair, was it, to blame Zoe for what had happened with him and Caspar. Just because she’d kind of pushed him into it in the beginning. And she hadn’t really even done that, had she? Joe had made his own damn decisions. This wasn’t anyone’s fault but his.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I just... please, don’t get involved, okay? Promise me?”

Zoe nodded, biting her lip. “Okay, I promise. I... I’m sorry, Joe.”

He sighed, feeling like a complete asshole. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Okay, sorr—I mean, okay,” she said, “I’ll... I’ll go, if that’s what you want, but... just, call me if you need, alright?”

She hugged him tightly, getting up reluctantly. She paused when she reached the door, turning back. “You can call me anytime, okay?” She said.

Joe nodded. “Okay.”

She left, shutting the door quietly behind her, and Joe collapsed back onto the bed. He rolled over, burying his face in the pillow and squeezing his eyes shut.

But it was no use. His mind was intent on replaying everything, and he couldn’t seem to shut it off. His recollection of the party was, thankfully, fuzzy, but everything before that—his chest tightened at the memory of Caspar’s cold expression, the flat look in his eyes, his final words before he’d walked out the door. _I can’t do this, Joe. I can’t deal with this._

It was a long time before sleep came.

 

 * 

 

_“So, yeah,” Joe was saying to Anna, “it was cool, you know? How she combined so many different mediums, but made it feel like it all... I dunno, fit together—”_

_There was a cough to his right. Joe glanced over to see Matt looking impatient. “Anyway,” he said, “Joe, if you’re done, do you wanna actually, y’know, order?”_

_“Oh,” Joe said. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Sorry.” He looked down at the menu, feeling a bit stupid. How long had they been sitting here, politely waiting for him to finish rambling so they could order?_

_“It’s fine,” Anna said. She smiled at him. “It was interesting.”_

_Matt made a noise under his breath. Anna glanced at him, looking a little uncomfortable. “Seriously,” she said, “I’m going to to New York over spring break, I’m definitely gonna check it out if it’s still on. I’ve always loved pop art—I had In The Car on my bedroom wall in high school.”_

_“Yeah, I have too,” Joe said, “it was one of the things that got me into art when I was a kid, actually—”_

_“Jesus, Joe,” Matt cut in, sounding annoyed, “could you shut up for one second?”_

_Joe felt his mouth snap closed. He fell silent, a little taken aback. He glanced at Anna, but she was looking away, down at her menu._

_“Uh. Sorry,” he said, wondering what the hell was wrong with Matt today. Maybe he was just in a bad mood—it seemed like that was happening a lot lately._

_Whatever it was, it was probably nothing to do with him._

_Right?_

 

 * 

 

“Caspar? Cas? You alright, buddy?”

Caspar looked up and blinked, slowly. He was in the locker room. Oli and Josh were on the bench opposite, regarding him with twin concerned expressions. He looked down, realizing he’d paused midway in lacing up his boots.

“Yeah... I’m,” he trailed off. Because answering _yes_ to that question wasn’t exactly the truth, now, was it? Still, he didn’t want to worry his friends any more than they already were. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I just... got distracted.”

Oli’s brows knitted together in the way they did when he was contemplating something. “Maybe...” he said, “maybe you should ask Andrews if you could sit this one out?”

“Are you kidding?” Josh hissed, under his breath, “what reason is he gonna give? A bad break up?”

“I don’t know!” Oli whispered back, defensively. They both seemed to be under the mistaken impression that Caspar couldn’t hear them. “It’s just... I mean, _look_ at him, dude. He can’t even tie his shoes!”

That wasn’t true, actually. Caspar _had_ managed to tie his shoes now. But, for the first time in his life, he found himself actually considering it. He’d attended matches and practices through hangovers, colds, and even one pretty bad bout of the flu, had never considered missing a single one — not seriously, anyway.

But today... he just couldn’t seem to muster up the energy. And what was the point, anyway? The playoffs were over. As a matter of fact, his exams were almost done, too. The last one was tomorrow.

It was hard to believe that just a week ago, those things had been top of his list of worries. That there had been nothing else bothering him. And now...

Now all he could see, all he could think about, was Joe.

Joe, laughing as he beat Caspar at Mario Kart yet again, leaning into him as they sat side by side on the couch. Joe, rolling his eyes in a way that was somehow equally fond and derisive, pulling Caspar down for a kiss after he’d said something Joe deemed either stupid or particularly sappy.

Joe’s voice on the phone over break, the way he’d sounded, tentative and yet undeniably pleased—or at least, that’s what Caspar had thought at the time—when Caspar had talked about them being together next Christmas.

Joe, flinching away from him, snapping at him, telling Caspar to leave him alone. Joe, pressed up against the counter in Jack and Conor’s kitchen, kissing someone else.

Caspar dropped his head to his hands, scrubbed them over his face roughly, as if that could block the thoughts out. Vaguely, he registered that Josh and Oli were still talking in hushed tones, but he’d tuned them out.

“Hey, guys,” a familiar voice broke into his reverie, and Caspar looked up, startled, to see Alfie standing there, looking a little hesitant.

“Hey,” he said, slowly.

“Can I...” Alfie gestured to the bench.

“Yeah, ‘course, dude,” Oli said.

Alfie sat down. “So...” he said. He tapped his foot nervously on the floor. Caspar didn’t think he’d ever seen Alfie look so awkward before.

Since the... break up—if that’s what it was—since then, though they’d all seen each other at practises and games, they hadn’t spoken. It seemed as though Alfie had been avoiding them. Not entirely unexpected—Joe was Zoe’s brother, after all. Caspar had assumed Zoe had said something to him, though he’d hoped Alfie would come around in time.

As if in confirmation, Alfie started, a little haltingly, “so... uh. Listen... Zoe told me I shouldn’t talk to you about this, that we should stay out of it—but... we’re buddies, right?”

Caspar nodded. He realized he’d leaned forward slightly in his seat.

“Well, I just... I think you deserve a chance to explain yourself.”

Josh bristled immediately. “What the hell’s _that_ supposed to mean? Joe’s the one who needs to explain himself!”

Alfie put his hands up. “Look, I’m trying not to take sides, alright. But... Caspar, it’s not cool what you did, man.”

Caspar opened his mouth, but Josh got there first. “What the fuck, Alfie, that’s not fair. Caspar didn’t do anything wrong!”

Alfie frowned. “Uh, yeah, I think he did. And maybe Joe did, too, I don’t know. But I do know he’s not the only one to blame here.”

“I think he is,” Josh snapped.

“Look,” Alfie said. He was starting to sound annoyed now. “Whatever happened exactly, I don’t know, that’s between you guys — but Joe, he didn’t deserve Caspar just walking out on him like that!”

This time, Caspar got in before Josh. “He gave me every fucking reason to!” He said, angrily. Because it was true. Alright, he was willing to take some of the blame for what had happened—the argument, how he’d acted—but this was just ridiculous.

Alfie’s eyes widened. “Wow... okay,” he said, “look, if that’s really what you think, then, I... fuck, man. Like I said, I really didn’t wanna take sides, but—well, Zoe feels really strongly about this, and you know what... I think I do, too. Joe’s been through a lot. He doesn’t deserve this shit.”

Half of Caspar kind of wanted to ask what exactly Alfie meant by that, but the other half was still angry, and—if was really honest with himself—hurt. He knew how serious Alfie and Zoe were, and how close Zoe was with Joe—but he and Alfie had been friends for a long time. And he’d thought... well, he’d just thought he merited a little more loyalty than this. More, at least, than Alfie blindly taking Joe’s side, when he was so obviously in the wrong.

It wasn’t like they’d just had a fight. Joe had—well, for all intents and purposes, he’d cheated, hadn’t he? And yeah, it had only been a kiss—though who knew what would have happened if Caspar hadn’t walked in—but that wasn’t the point. The point was what it had meant.

Because he’d laid it all on the line, hadn’t he, had made it clear how serious he was about them. And he’d thought Joe had felt the same. Sure, he hadn’t said it in so many words—but, Caspar had reasoned, that was just how Joe was.

He’d always seemed... a bit reserved, a bit hesitant, when they’d talked about their feelings, about the future (or rather, when Caspar had—he realized, in retrospect, that he was always the one who brought it up). Now he wondered if that was a sign. One he should have paid attention to.

He jumped at the sound of Alfie’s voice, realized he’d completely zoned out. Again.

“You know what, I think... I think I’m just gonna take Zoe’s advice, and stay out of it,” Alfie was saying, slowly, “probably should’ve done that in the first place. I... I’ll see you guys out there.” He got up to leave, giving them a curt nod.

“God, what the fuck,” Josh muttered, when he’d gone. “I know Zoe’s got him whipped, but that is just too much, man. Saying _you_ should apologize!” He looked at Oli for support.

Oli nodded. “Yeah, I... I can’t believe he’d take Joe’s side like that. I’m sorry, buddy.”

Josh bit his lip, glancing at Caspar. “Maybe...” he said, “maybe you _should_ ask Andrews if you can sit this one out?”

“No,” Caspar shook his head, “no—it’s fine.” It wasn’t, really—but then again, he could probably use the distraction. “Come on, let’s go.”

 

 * 

 

“Joe,” Britt said, “have you been to class today?” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the music blasting from his laptop. It was loud enough that he hadn’t even heard her come in.

Joe grunted in response. He didn’t move from his position curled up in the bed.

Britt turned the music right down, far too close to silence for Joe’s liking. He heard footsteps cross his floor.

“C’mon, Joe,” she said. Her voice sounded closer now. “This is getting a little pathetic.”

Joe didn’t say anything. He couldn’t exactly disagree, now, could he? He was well aware that the fact he was in bed at three o’clock in the afternoon — for the third day in a row — and the fact that he’d missed two classes _and_ studio time, was, in fact, pretty fucking pathetic.

He felt the bed dip as Britt sat down. “Are you just gonna ignore me?” She poked his shoulder. “Joe?”

Reluctantly, Joe rolled over to face her. “Oh, Joe,” she said when she saw his face, expression shifting from mild irritation to concern, and he knew it must be obvious he’d been crying.

He swiped roughly at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, embarrassed. It was Caspar’s, but he was hoping Britt didn’t know that — because, well... there was pathetic, and then there was _pathetic_.

Britt sighed. “I’m... god, I’m so sorry,” she said, “I just wish... I wish it could’ve worked out. I _really_ wanted it to work out for you.”

Joe swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Me too,” he said, quietly.

“C’mere,” Britt said, pulling him into a hug. Joe pressed his face into her shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears threatening to spill over.

Pulling away after a few moments, he blinked rapidly, scrubbing at his face again with his sleeve. Britt tactfully pretended not to notice. She knew he hated crying in front of other people.

“What can I do?” She asked, once he’d managed to get himself under control. “Do you want me to get you anything?”

Joe choked out a laugh. “I’m not... I’m not sick, Britt. I don’t need looking after.”

Britt gave him a look that suggested she didn’t entirely agree, but all she said was, “maybe not, but I want to, anyway. ‘Cause, well... you’re my best friend, and I love you. Plus, you look really fucking sad right now, buddy. It’s kinda breaking my heart.”

Joe gave her a half hearted smile. “Love you too,” he said.

“So, seriously... what do you wanna do? Do you... d’you wanna go out?”

Joe shook his head. “No... I—I think I just want to stay here,” he mumbled.

“Okay,” Britt said, “Well... I’ll be here if you need anything.”

“Can you turn the music back up?” Joe asked, as she got up to leave.

Britt nodded. “Sure, buddy.”

Once she’d gone, Joe rolled over, curling up and closing his eyes. He was glad Britt hadn’t tried to drag him out of bed, but even he could admit that might not have been such a bad thing. He couldn’t go on like this. He needed to snap out of it.

He just... he’d hoped, after the initial, painful blow of the break up, that he could begin, gradually, to get back to normal.

After all, it hadn’t really been a surprise, had it? Part of him had been waiting, all this time, for things to go wrong, for the rug to be pulled out from under his feet. Had known from the start that it wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ last (even as another, much smaller, but surprisingly persistent, part had been beginning to hope that it maybe—maybe it would).

And now it had happened.

What he hadn’t counted on, though, was just how much it would hurt. Because it did. A lot. He missed Caspar so much it felt like a physical ache in his chest. And he couldn’t seem to stop his mind from going back over everything, endlessly, as if this was a puzzle he could figure out if he just thought hard enough.

But it wasn’t. And he couldn’t. Caspar was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. Joe had pushed him away—and the worst part was that Caspar had let him.

But then, Joe could hardly blame him for that, could he?

He’d lied to Caspar. He could admit that now. But then... even if he hadn’t, even if he’d told Caspar the truth... would that really have changed anything? One way or another, Caspar would have realized—and it seemed like he’d been starting to—just how messed up Joe really was. Would have realized that it was just too much. Too much to deal with. And that Joe... that he wasn’t worth it.

It felt, in a way, like a horrible echo of what had happened with Matt. And for the first time in a long time, he found himself thinking about that, too, remembering all the things he’d tried so hard to forget. It was almost like everything that had happened with Caspar had... flipped a switch, somehow, inside his head. And he couldn’t seem to turn it off again.

And he wanted... god, he just wanted it all to fucking stop. The thoughts, the way he felt, everything.

He wanted things to go back the way they’d been before, when he’d been—well, he could admit now he hadn’t been _happy_ —but he hadn’t been unhappy, either. Not really. Actually, he hadn’t really been much of anything at all. But it had been easy, and, most importantly, it had been safe.

It was nothing like this. He’d... god, he’d _really_ fucked up this time. And it didn’t seem to be getting any better. If anything, with each day that passed, it just seemed to get worse.

So what the hell was he supposed to do now?

 

* 

 

_It was Friday night, and he and Matt were at a house party being thrown by—Joe thought—a friend of a friend of some people Will and Arden knew. He wasn’t really sure. But they had a few kegs and a live band, and he’d had a really fucking long day, so right now, things were pretty good._

_Unfortunately, the band’s singer was... well, he was kind of terrible, to be honest. They were playing a barely recognizable cover of Mr. Brightside, and Joe couldn’t help but wince every time the singer’s voice rose enough to be heard other instruments and the general noise of the room—thankfully, it wasn’t very often. The guitarist was pretty good, though (and maybe kind of hot, not that Joe had noticed at all)._

_Matt had seen some people he knew and wandered off, and Joe suddenly realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast—which explained, at least, how the three or four beers he’d had had hit him so hard._

_He made his way over, only a little unsteadily, to where the hosts had set up a very half hearted selection of snacks (there were some tortilla chips still in the packet, and a half-eaten jar of dip that looked like it had seen better days)._

_“Well, this kind of sucks,” he said, absently, to the guy next to him._

_“Yeah, it really does,” came the reply. Joe looked up. The guy was—okay, jeez, he was tall, with dark hair styled in a way a little bit reminiscent of a MySpace profile picture circa 2009. “The chips are stale and I’m kind of too scared to try to the dip, to he honest.”_

_Joe laughed. He picked up the jar, turning it over. “Wise decision,” he said, “this expired two months ago.” He sighed. “Shit. I’m starving.”_

_His words were almost completely drowned out by the band’s singer, who finally seemed to have realized that he needed to sing louder in order to heard, and had begun half shouting, half warbling the song’s chorus. Joe caught the guy’s eye, and they both made a face._

_“Maybe we could go see what they have in the kitchen?” The guy suggested. “I mean, I know it’s not exactly good party guest etiquette, but honestly, if they’re going to try and poison us with expired dip I think they kinda deserve it.”_

_“I think you may be right,” Joe agreed, “plus, I’m not sure my eardrums can survive much more of this. I’m Joe, by the way,” he added, after a moment._

_“Dan.”_

_They made their way to the kitchen. The fridge was a write off, but they found a half eaten box of cookies on side that were only slightly stale (by at this point, Joe didn’t really care, as long as they were edible and not liable to give him food poisoning)._

_He found out that Dan was a freshman, like Joe, and that he was waiting there for his boyfriend, Phil, who was a sophomore, and a film major._

_He was still there, maybe twenty minutes later—Dan was telling him a story about a particularly disastrous family holiday the previous summer, which made Joe laugh so hard that he nearly choked on the cookie he was still eating—when he felt a hand clamp around his elbow._

_He turned to see Matt. “Oh, hey, Matt,” he said. “This is Dan.”_

_Matt didn’t even glance at Dan. “Joe, come on, let’s go,” he said._

_Joe frowned. “Uh. Okay,” he said. Matt looked kind of... pissed, and he couldn’t work out why._

_He turned back to Dan as Matt started pulling him away. “Bye, Dan!” He called. “Nice to meet you!”_

_“You too,” Dan called back, giving him a slightly awkward wave._

_“Matt—” he tried, as Matt dragged him through the crowd, “Matt, ow, stop, that hurts—”_

_Matt didn’t stop until they were outside. Joe shivered a little in the cold night air. “What—” he started, when Matt turned back to him._

_“I can’t believe you!” Matt said._

_Joe stared at him, completely nonplussed. “What are you talking about?”_

_“You just completely disappear, I was looking for you for fucking_ ages _, and then I find you flirting with some random fucking guy!”_

_Joe’s jaw dropped open. “What—I—no, I wasn’t—”_

_“Oh, please,” Matt cut him off, “I was watching you two before I came over. You were laughing your head off at some stupid story that wasn’t even funny.”_

_Joe frowned. “It... it was funny,” he said, “he was telling about this time he got really bad sunburn, and—”_

_Matt made an irritated sound in the back of his throat. “I don’t fucking_ care _, Joe. God, the way you were looking at him—”_

_Joe made a strangled noise. “I wasn’t looking at him like anything! He was there waiting for his boyfriend, for god’s sake.”_

_Matt snorted. “Yeah, sure, that’s what he told you.”_

_“Matt, you’re being totally paranoid. He seemed like a nice guy, why would he even make something like that up—”_

_“Jesus, Joe, you’ve known him for like five fucking minutes! God, if you think he’s that great why don’t you just go home with him instead—”_

_“Matt, stop!” Joe said, staring at him incredulously. “I wasn’t interested in him! We were just talking—he didn’t really know anyone else there, I think he was too shy to talk to people, or something. But that was it. God, you’re acting crazy!”_

_He turned to leave, but Matt grabbed his arm again. “Joe, we’re not done here—”_

_“Matt, get off me. I_ am _done. I’m going home.”_

_Matt stared at him, and for a split second, there was a look in his eyes which made something in Joe’s stomach twist uncomfortably._

_A second later, it was gone. “Fine,” he bit out, relinquishing his grip on Joe’s arm. “Go then.” He turned, abruptly, and made his way back into the party._

_Joe stood there for a moment, staring after him. What the hell had that been about? He thought, for a moment, about following Matt back inside, trying to talk to him, giving him a chance to explain._

_But—no, that probably wasn’t a good idea. Not to mention, he was still really fucking annoyed. He’d been having a good time, and this had totally killed it._

_And he still had no idea what the hell it had even been about, what had made Matt act like that._

_He sighed, turning to head home. Maybe they could talk about it tomorrow, when they’d both calmed down._

 

 * 

 

_The next morning, Matt showed up at his dorm with painkillers and coffee._

_“I’m so fucking sorry about last night, Joe,” he said, after Joe had reluctantly let him in, “I was drunk, and I—I was being a total dick, I know. It was just, seeing you with that guy—”_

_Joe blew out a breath, frustrated. “Matt, I told you, we were just talking!”_

_“I know!” Matt said, green eyes wide with contrition, “and I’m_ so _sorry. I’m sorry I was such an asshole. It’s just, you—you make me crazy sometimes, you know?” Joe frowned. “I mean,” Matt continued, stepping closer, “I just, I love you so fucking much, I don’t wanna lose you—so even just seeing you with someone else, sometimes, it’s just—”_

_“Yeah, but I wasn’t with anyone else,” Joe said, “I mean, god, I’d... I’d never cheat on you.”_

_“I know you wouldn’t,” Matt said, “I know that. And god, I’m so sorry I reacted like that. Please,_ please _let me make it up to you?”_

  _Joe swallowed. “I... okay,” he said, after a moment. Matt smiled. Joe put one hand up. “You’re not forgiven just yet, alright,” he insisted—though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, really, himself or Matt. “But this is a good start, I guess.” He took one of the coffee cups._

_“Yeah, of course,” Matt said, “just let me know what I can do to make it up to you.”_

_“Well...” Joe said, “what about that show at the students’ union this weekend? Britt was saying the other day there’s still tickets left—”_

_“Fine,” Matt said, “yeah, let’s do it, let’s go.”_

_Joe’s eyes widened, and he smiled a little, pleased. Matt had flat out refused to go, before. He didn’t consider the bands playing highbrow enough for his taste. “Okay,” he said, still a bit surprised, “cool.”_

_“Yeah, cool,” Matt echoed. Was it Joe’s imagination, or did he look a little annoyed? “Come on,” Matt said, “let’s go get some breakfast. On me.”_

_Joe shrugged, the fleeting thought leaving his mind as quickly as it had entered. “Okay,” he said._

 

 *

 

It was late on a gray, rainy Thursday afternoon, and Caspar was in the library. He’d come to look at a few books for an essay. So far, however, it hadn’t exactly been going well. The studying versus staring out of the window at the rain ratio had been quite significantly skewed in one direction. He’d been here over half an hour, and so far, had only managed to read a couple of pages, and write—he glanced at his laptop—a sentence and a half. Great.

Sighing, he pushed the book he’d been reading aside and opened another, hoping maybe this one would prove more interesting—though if he was honest with himself, he knew the dullness or otherwise of his reading material probably wasn’t the cause of his lack of productivity.

“Caspar?”

Caspar had a second to be glad for the distraction, before he looked up and saw who had spoken.

It was Dan, looking down at him, mouth set in a thin line. Phil was hovering a few paces away, looking distinctly uncomfortable. The combination was enough to make Caspar pretty sure he wouldn’t like where this was going.

“Yes...?” He said, cautiously.

Dan’s eyes narrowed. “I just want to say,” he told Caspar, “that I think you’re a fucking asshole.”

“Dan!” Phil exclaimed. He moved a little closer. “You said you were just going to talk to him!”

“I _am_ talking to him,” Dan said, looking back at Phil, “I’m telling him I think he’s a dick.” He glared at Caspar. “You’re a dick,” he repeated, as if Caspar had somehow missed it the first time, “and Joe deserves so much fucking better than you. He doesn’t realize it right now, but he will. Just like you’re going to realize how much of a mistake you made, letting him go.”

Caspar swallowed. He wanted to disagree—knew he should, because Dan was _so_ fucking wrong—but, well... it was possible that last bit had hit home, a little too hard.

Dan blew out a breath. “There,” he said, seeming a little calmer now, “I just needed you to know that.” He glanced back at Phil, who was standing with his arms crossed. When Dan turned to him, he raised an eyebrow. He seemed to be communicating something to Dan, but Caspar couldn’t tell what.

“Okay,” Caspar said, “message received. I...” he bit his lip, “look, I’m—I’m sorry for what happened. And I’m not saying I had no part in it. But Joe—”

“No,” Dan cut him off, eyes narrowing, “you don’t get to — where the _hell_ do you get off, saying that, when you had every part in it! When you—”

“Dan!” Phil interjected. He laid a hand on Dan’s arm, giving him a look. “I think that’s enough.”

“Yeah, but—”

“ _No_ , come on,” Phil insisted, “this isn’t our business. And besides,” he added, lowering his voice, “you know perfectly well Joe doesn’t want you doing this.”

Dan’s mouth snapped shut. He scowled. There was a pause and then, “ _fine_ ,” he said, huffily. He spun around, stalking off.

Phil turned back to Caspar. And if Caspar had any doubt as to whether _any_ part of that had been for his benefit, it was erased when he saw Phil’s expression. It was angry — but a cold kind of anger, and somehow even worse than Dan’s abrupt, fiery temper.

“Look,” Phil said. He sounded almost casual. “Joe told us not to get involved, and I’m respecting his wishes. But I just want you to know, I completely agree with everything Dan said. You’re an asshole.”

Without another glance at Caspar, he turned and followed Dan.

Caspar let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, leaning back in his seat.

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to go after them, to defend himself. After all, it wasn’t fair, was it? This wasn’t his fault—or at least, it was _just_ his fault. Why was everyone acting like what Joe had done was okay?

But instead, all he could hear were Dan’s words.

_You’re going to realize how much of a mistake you made, letting him go._

 

* 

 

Over the next week, Caspar tried as best he could to distract himself. He threw himself into his classes—he didn’t think he ever been so ahead, not this early in the semester. Before, there had always been football, his friends, parties,  _something_ to distract him. It was usually only as the work began to pile up that he’d be forced to buckle down and deal with it.

But now... well, football season was over, and he didn’t much feel like going out. During the day, at least, his classes usually provided enough of a distraction—especially since, after pleading with the dean of the school a few weeks’ into the semester, he’d managed to get a late transfer into any Business classes he wasn't already taking (and that weren’t already full), and trying to catch up with all the stuff that he’d missed had kept him pretty busy.

The evenings, though, were another matter. And though he tried, Caspar couldn’t quite seem to stop Dan’s words from echoing in his head. Couldn’t stop going back over what had happened. Couldn’t stop thinking about Joe.

That was nothing new, of course—but now, it was worse. It had been easier before, when he’d been angry. When he’d been able to focus on that, rather than the hurt that lay beneath.

Now, though—now the more Caspar thought about it, the less angry he felt.

And the more he thought about it, went back over it in his mind, the more he found himself stuck on several things. Some that he’d noticed at the time, and some that only seemed significant now.

Like the way Joe had avoided arguments. The way his friends had reacted to the break up— overprotective and apparently blind to any wrongdoing on Joe’s part—even the little talk Zoe had given him, all those months ago, warning him not to hurt Joe. That last fight, when Joe had thought Caspar was going to hit him—he still felt so sure that’s what had happened, no matter how much Joe had insisted it wasn’t.

And, finally, Joe telling him that his last boyfriend had been in his words— _kind of a dick_. Joe had brushed it off at the time, made it seem like it wasn’t a big deal—though even then, Caspar had wondered.

And now... well, now it all seemed to add up to something—something Caspar wasn’t sure he liked very much at all. And he’d told Joe, hadn’t he, that there was no explanation he could give that would be good enough. But he didn’t feel so sure about that anymore.

What had Alfie said? _Joe’s been through a lot._

There was a chance, of course, that he was wrong. That he was making something out of nothing—that maybe too much of this was mixed up with just how much he missed Joe—because, god, he really did. So goddamn much. It was like part of him still hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that he couldn’t see Joe anymore, still woke up each morning expecting to. And each time he realised that he couldn’t, it hurt a little more.

But still... it didn’t feel like he was wrong. In fact, he was beginning to feel like an idiot for not putting it all together sooner.

And so he did the one thing he’d promised himself—or, more accurately, his friends—that he wouldn’t. He texted Joe.

Joe didn’t reply. Caspar had hoped, at first, that maybe he just needed time. So he waited a couple of days, tried again. And again. And then he tried calling.

There was no answer. It had been over a week now, and there had been nothing.

Which was how he found himself, on Friday night, standing in his kitchen, staring dejectedly into his beer, only half aware of the conversation going on around him.

As usual, he, Josh and Oli were having people over for pre-drinks before hitting a party elsewhere. One noticeable absence this evening was Alfie and Zoe. To add just a little bit more shittiness to the whole situation, Alfie had been avoiding him, not speaking to Caspar—or Josh and Oli, for that matter—beyond what was necessary at practise. This left Marcus stuck, somewhat awkwardly, in the middle, which Caspar felt bad about. But what could he do?

He’d tried to talking to Alfie, in fact, at practise earlier that evening. Though in all honesty it had maybe been less to do with trying to make the situation less awkward between his friends, and more to do with the radio silence he’d been getting from Joe. He’d thought maybe Alfie would talk to him. Would explain what he’d meant when he’d said Joe had _been through a lot_.

Alfie had glanced sideways at him. “To be honest, that’s none of your business,” he’d said, shortly. Then he’d added, quieter this time, “look, I—I’m just... I’m not getting involved, alright.”

He’d turned to go, and then stopped, looking back at Caspar. Caspar had a moment to feel a little jolt of hope, before Alfie spoke. “Uh...” he’d said, looking awkward, “look, I really _don’t_ want to get involved, but... Zoe told me you keep calling and texting Joe, and... just. You should probably leave him alone.”

The words felt almost like a physical blow. Alfie must have seen something in his expression, because he’d added, “It’s just... I think it’s for the best. Sorry.”

Pulling out his phone again, Caspar glanced down at it.

_No new messages._

He felt his heart sink. Which was stupid, because he’d expected that, of course. But it was like that same part of him that kept wanting to see Joe—even though he knew he couldn’t—was the same part that also kept hoping, stubbornly, and despite all evidence to the contrary, that Joe would reply. That they could talk. That they could work this out somehow.

He realized now that maybe that was what he’d been hoping for that all along—even at first, when he’d been so angry.

But with every day that Joe didn’t reply, Caspar felt another little bit of that hope extinguish. And the cold, gradual realization that this was really it, that it was really over, began to creep over him.

And, god, he’d _really_ thought this couldn’t get any worse.

Caspar was horrified to feel tears pricking at his eyes. Excusing himself from the conversation, he made his way up the stairs to his room, finishing the rest of his beer on the way.

He dropped down onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling without really seeing it. He was still there, when, an indeterminate amount of time later, he heard a knock at the door.

“Yeah?” He called, surprised at the effort it took.

“You alright, buddy?” It was Josh. “Saw you leave, thought I’d come and check on you.”

“Yeah,” Caspar said, then, “well... I. No. Not really.”

“Didn’t think so,” Josh said. Caspar heard him cross the floor, felt him sit down on the bed.

“I... I really miss him,” Caspar said, to the ceiling.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Josh sighed. He reached out to pat Caspar’s shoulder, the angle slightly awkward.

“He won’t reply to me.”

“He—wait, what?” Josh said. Caspar felt his hand drop. “Caspar, did you text him?”

“Yeah. And called.”

“Oh for—Cas, you _promised_ us you wouldn’t!”

Caspar sat up. “I just... I thought...”

“You thought _what_?”

“I don’t know... I think there’s stuff he wasn’t telling me. I think... I think his last relationship was a bad one. Like, maybe really bad.”

“Okay...” Josh said, slowly, “but even if that’s true, that still doesn’t change what he did.”

“I know, but... maybe it does, a little bit?”  
Josh sighed. “Caspar...”

“I just... Josh, I... I miss him so fucking much,” he felt tears in his eyes again. “I...” he bit his lip, hesitating, before letting the words out all in a rush, “I think I’m in love with him.”

“Oh, jesus,” Josh said.

Caspar said nothing. He’d been thinking about it for a while—much longer, in fact, than he’d like to admit. And now he’d said it out loud, god, he realized just how true it was. He was— _fuck_ , he was in love with Joe.

“But he doesn’t... he doesn’t feel the same way,” he whispered, voice breaking a little on the words. He was crying now, was aware he must look pretty pathetic, but couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“ _Shit,_ ” Josh said, with feeling.

Caspar let out a strangled laugh. “Yeah,” he said, “shit.”

“Alright,” Josh said, “that’s it. I’m getting Alexa—and Oli, if I can find him.”

Josh returned maybe five minutes later, Alexa in tow. “Couldn’t find Oli,” he said, “I texted him.”

Caspar wasn’t sure what Josh had told Alexa, but she came over and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. He buried his face in her shoulder, sniffling. Josh came over and sat with them, rubbing his back.

“Oh, babe,” Alexa murmured, stroking his hair, “I’m so sorry.”

After several long moments, Caspar pulled away, wiping his eyes. “Sorry, not exactly the kind of Friday night you guys probably had planned.”

Alexa rolled her eyes. “Oh please, shut up. You’re our best friend, you’re way more important than some dumb party.”

“Yeah, obviously, dude,” Josh said.

“So... you’re in love with him, huh?” Alexa said.

Caspar just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“But he hasn’t... he hasn’t replied to any your messages?”

“No,” Caspar said. His eyes stung. “But what if... maybe I should maybe I should like, try to talk to him... in person?”

“Uh...” Josh said, “I don’t think...”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Alexa said, glancing at Josh, “I mean, if he hasn’t replied to you, I... I’m sorry, babe, but that’s a pretty clear message.”

“I just... I want to see him,” Caspar sniffed.

“Oh, sweetie,” Alexa said, “I know, but... I don’t think that will help. I think you need to try and put him out of your mind—as best you can right now,” she added, seeing his expression. “It’ll take time, but you need to try. Seeing him will only make it worse.”

Caspar thought about being able to see Joe—only to have Joe to reject him again, this time in person—and shuddered.

“I... I guess,” he said.

“I know it’s hard,” Alexa said, “but it’ll get easier. Just... just maybe, for now, try and avoid things that make you think of him.”

“So definitely no calling or texting,” Josh chimed in.

Caspar nodded, slowly. Joe had made it pretty clear, by this point, hadn’t he, that he wanted to be left alone. Alfie had said as much.

“Wait,” Josh said, after a moment, “does this mean we can’t play Crash Bandicoot anymore?”

Alexa elbowed him, but Caspar just sighed, mouth turning up a little at one corner in a smile he didn’t quite feel. “No, buddy, it’s fine,” he said.

He didn’t want to tell them that avoiding things that reminded him of Joe would be pretty much impossible, that there wasn’t really any point in trying.

Because it was almost everything. Everything from something funny he’d see or read about, and instantly want to tell Joe, to any coffee shop he passed, any piece of art he saw, to his room, his bed, the couch... hell, the whole fucking _house_.

He was in love with Joe. And, god, it hurt more than Caspar had ever thought possible, feeling all of that, when it had nowhere to go, because Joe... Joe didn’t feel the same way.

And maybe Alexa was right, maybe this would get easier.

But right now, well... Caspar couldn’t imagine it.

 

*

 

_Joe stared at his reflection in the mirror. Slowly, he brought one hand up and poked at the bruise, then winced and let it drop._

_It wasn’t as bad as it had been a couple of days ago—the initial angry purple-red had faded, and the swelling had gone down. He might, even, be able to cover it up with the concealer that was currently lying on the bathroom counter, the one he’d grabbed and shoved in with the rest of his purchases at the grocery store last night._

_And maybe it was just the harsh light of the bathroom, making the mottled bruising stand out in stark relief against his skin, the circles under his eyes appear darker than they really were—but when he looked at himself in the mirror, it almost felt as if he was looking at someone else. Someone who belonged on the cover of a pamphlet, or a poster you glanced at in the waiting room of the doctor’s surgery, before looking back down at your phone. It wasn’t_ him.

_Except... it was._

_But Matt had said, hadn’t he, that he’d never do it again. He’d apologized over, and over, and over. So many times that Joe had told him to stop, that it was okay._

_He didn’t know why he’d said that, really—except that he really_ had _wanted Matt to stop. Had wanted to have just one moment where he could pretend it had never happened, could ignore the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him that no matter how many times Matt said he was sorry, it wasn’t okay, and that if he’d done it once, what was going to stop him from doing it again?_

_He knew the answer to that, of course._

_But... but was it really the answer? Matt wasn’t a bad person. He’d just made a mistake._

_And those first few months together had been... well, they’d been amazing. They’d been—_ he’d _been happy. And he’d been able to really be himself, completely, for maybe the first time in his life._

_Did he really want to throw all that away over this one thing, that might never even happen again?_

_Joe shook himself, trying to clear the thoughts from his mind. Frowning, he picked up the concealer and unscrewed the cap. He knew from Zoe practising on him when they were younger that this kind of stuff had to actually match the color of your skin. And from the packaging this one had looked like it would._

_The color inside the tube, though, looked kind of different. Apprehensively, he patted some onto his cheekbone, over the worst of the bruising, and then a bit more. It actually wasn’t too bad. When he stood back from the mirror, it definitely looked less noticeable. But up close... well, there was no question it was make up. He was sure there was some way to like... blend it, or something, so it didn’t look like that. Zoe would know. Or Arden. Britt might even know. But he couldn’t exactly ask them—actually, he hadn’t seen Britt or Arden (or Will, for that matter) for a few weeks now—and class started in twenty minutes._

_Irritated, he tossed the tube back onto the counter, and wiped the rest of the product off his face. He’d just have to tell people he’d, like... got into a fight. Or tripped. Or something._

_It would be fine._

 

* 

 

_Over the next few weeks, things were... better. Matt always seemed to be in a good mood. He didn’t get irritated about little things, or take everything Joe said way too seriously, like he’d seemed to increasingly frequently before. He went along with Joe’s stupid jokes, and actually seemed interested in what he had to say—instead of spending half the time looking at his phone, or interrupting Joe, talking over him._

_It reminded Joe of how he’d been when they’d first met—he hadn’t quite realized until then just how much things had changed since then._

_But now... Matt really did seem to be making an effort, seemed determined to prove to Joe that he’d meant what he’d said—that he was sorry, that he’d never do it again._

_Joe wanted to believe him._

_And maybe... maybe he could. Maybe he could stop the agonizing back and forth, between the part of him that wanted to trust Matt, and the part of him that told him he was being an idiot._ _Maybe it didn’t have to be an issue. Maybe, in fact, he never really had to think about what had happened again._

_The bruises faded, and once they had, it become easier to do just that. To let it become one those not quite real things._

_Until the next time it happened._

 

* 

 

“So...” said Caspar’s academic advisor, regarding him with an expression that Caspar thought was quite unfairly suspicious, “I have to say, Mr. Lee, I was quite... _surprised_ , to see you’d made an appointment with me.” Caspar must have looked a bit offended at that, because she added, “it’s just... well, I couldn’t help but feel, when I called you in for our previous appointments, that you didn’t really want to be there.”

Caspar felt himself flushing a bit. Had he really been that obvious? “Uh... yeah,” he admitted, sheepishly, “I guess I didn’t.”

“And that’s changed?” She asked. When he nodded, she looked pleased. “So,” she said, “you mentioned in your email you wanted to discuss something with me?”

“Yeah,” Caspar said, “I wanted... I wanted to talk to you about—well, declaring a major, actually.”

Her eyes widened, and she set her coffee cup down on the desk with enough force that some sloshed over the edge. “You want to declare a major?”

Caspar nodded again. Okay, seriously, did she really have to look _quite_ that shocked?

“I...” she was apparently momentarily lost for words. “Well, I must say, this is quite unexpected. Last time we spoke... I don’t think it was much more than a month ago, you didn’t seem anywhere close to making up your mind. Do you mind if I ask what’s brought on this decision?”

Caspar shrugged. “It’s just... something someone said. Someone who’s important to me.”

“I see,” she said, opening her drawer and pulling out a hefty stack of papers. “Well, we can certainly discuss that today.”

Caspar chewed his lip. “I’ve... I’ve kind of left it too late, haven’t I, though? I mean, it’s gonna be hard to catch up.”

She looked up from the papers she was shuffling. “Well, are you serious about it this time? You’re not just doing this just because this _someone_ wants you to?”

“No,” Caspar shook his head, vehemently, “no... actually, the person who—who gave me the idea, they... well, they don’t really care, either way, what I do. But still, I realized they were right. And I _am_ serious about this—I’ve been working really hard.”

She gave him an approving nod. “Good. Now, I won’t lie to you—it _will_ be difficult to catch up,” she told him, bluntly. “But no, it’s not too late. In fact,” she added, pushing a form across the table towards him and taking a sip of her coffee, “between you and me—and even though most of these forms say something entirely different—I don’t really believe there’s such a thing as _too late_. I think that there’s always time to turn things around.”

 

 * 

 

It was Friday evening, and Joe was by himself in the apartment.

Britt had tried to get him to go out, but he’d told her no. So now he was here, lying on the couch, watching an infomercial about a vacuum cleaner because he couldn’t seem to summon the energy to get up and fetch the remote.

His sketchbook lay beside him on the couch, open to a blank page. He’d pulled it out for the first time in a while, earlier in the evening, had thought maybe he could try working on one of his assignments, or even just do some sketching. Apparently, though, the whole tortured artist thing just didn’t work for him, because everything he’d started he’d ended up ripping out and throwing in the trash.

He didn’t even have his phone to distract him. That was currently buried in his sock drawer after he’d gotten a little too close to replying to one of Caspar’s messages earlier.

When he’d seen the first text pop up, Joe had felt his heart leap, felt a little bit of a hope he hadn’t known he’d still had reigniting in his chest. Because Caspar wanted to talk. And maybe... maybe that meant he’d changed his mind?

But, then... what if they _did_ talk, and Caspar realized he’d been wrong? That it wasn't worth it, after all.

It just was just too much of a risk—letting himself hope that it might be different this time, only to wind up hurt, and alone. Again.

And he hadn’t ever thought that anything could be worse than how things had ended with Matt... but somehow, this was. Because even though he’d still loved Matt—or he’d thought he did—by then it had become this twisted, messed up thing. And it had burned itself out, because it had to.

It was nothing like what he’d felt— _still_ felt—for Caspar. And though he knew he needed to let it go, this time, he just couldn’t seem to. Couldn’t seem to let Caspar go.

Sometimes, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to. Not really.

But it didn’t matter. Because Caspar deserved better than him. And he’d find that person, Joe was sure of it. Caspar deserved someone who’d make him happy. He deserved someone who wasn’t a complete fucking _mess_.

And the thing was—the really crazy thing was that Joe had actually thought, all this time, that he’d done okay — that he’d managed to hold things together, even after everything with Matt. And that he’d gotten over it, had been able to put it behind him. But he was starting to realize that wasn’t quite true.

In fact, it wasn’t true at all.

And he had no idea what to do about it.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Joe frowned. Who the hell was knocking on the door at... half nine on a Friday night? After a few moments (and, if he was honest, a brief internal debate about whether to actually answer it or not) Joe dragged himself off the couch and into the hall.

He opened the door to find Dan standing there. “Hey,” he said, nodding at Joe. “So... you gonna let me in?” He asked, after a few moments. He had his backpack slung over one shoulder, and was holding a grocery bag, swinging it back and forth a little.

Joe blinked. “Sorry... yeah, of course,” he said, standing back to let Dan past, following him through to the living room.

“Did Britt ask you to come?” He asked, eyeing Dan somewhat suspiciously.

“Uh, yeah... kinda,” Dan said, “she you wouldn’t go out with her, and that you were... I think her exact words were, ‘languishing in the apartment like a nineteenth century literary heroine in hipster glasses’.”

“My glasses aren’t hipster,” Joe grumbled, half heartedly. It was a familiar argument.

“Buddy,” Dan said, setting his bags down, “just admit that you’re like, at least thirty five percent hipster.”

“I am not.”

Dan tilted his head to one side. “Maybe not so much today. I mean, the glasses and the jeans, yeah... but the hoodie. Wait, is... is that Caspar’s?”

“No... well, yes,” Joe admitted, reluctantly, “it’s just... it’s comfortable, alright? And I just got it out of the laundry.” _And now it doesn’t smell like him anymore_ , he didn’t add. He’d had enough pitying looks from Britt today, thank you.

Dan looked as though he didn’t quite believe him, but thankfully said nothing, other than, “well, maybe you’re saved from being a nineteenth century heroine, then. Since I don’t think Jane Eyre ever wore one of Rochester’s hoodies.”

“Jane... who?”

“Jane Eyre... you know, from the novel.”

“Didn’t know you were into nineteenth century literature.”

“I am when my boyfriend forces me to watch the screen adaptations,” Dan said. At Joe’s questioning look, he explained, “Phil took a class on adaptations of classic literature in last year. I had to watch a bunch with him. And I mean, nineties era Colin Firth jumping into a lake was alright, I’ll admit, but the rest...” he made a face.

“Right...” Joe said.

“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Great. Well, anyway. I brought food. And Outlast II. So we can stuff our faces and get scared shitless.”

Joe laughed despite himself. “Sounds like... fun?”

“The _most_ fun,” Dan said, nodding.

 

* 

 

_“It really is good to see you,” Britt said, smiling at him warmly. “God, I feel like it’s been about a billion years.”_

_It was a wintry Saturday afternoon, pale sunlight streaming through the windows of the Black Book. Joe frowned, trying to think back to the last time he’d seen her. It was true, he supposed—they’d been trying to meet up for several weeks now, but one way or another, things had seemed to keep getting in the way._

_“Yeah, you too,” he said, after a moment, “I guess it has been a while.”_

_They ran through the standard small talk for a bit, before Britt fixed him with an uncharacteristically serious gaze. “Joe,” she said, “I... I’ve been wanting to talk to you, about—well, about Matt—”_

_Joe stiffened. “Britt...” he said, apprehensively. Britt had made her dislike of Matt pretty clear—and to be honest, that maybe had something to do with why they hadn’t seen each other much lately. “You said... after last time, you promised you’d drop this—”_

_“Yeah, but I_ can’t _, Joe!” Britt blurted out. Joe blinked, surprised at the outburst. Britt never got worked up about anything. “If anything, it’s got worse since last time!”_

_Joe shook his head, brows knitting together. “What are you talking about? No, it hasn’t.”_

_Britt let out an incredulous noise. “I never see you, Joe! None of us ever see you!”_

_Joe shifted, uncomfortably. “I’ve just... I’ve been busy. And so has Matt. So, like, when he has free time—well, obviously he wants to spend it with me.”_

_“Right,” Britt said, looking like she didn’t believe him for one second. Which was stupid. It was the truth, after all. “And no offense, dude, but you look like shit.”_

_Joe frowned, unable to resist running a self conscious hand through his hair. “Wow... thanks.”_

_Britt sighed. “Listen, I’m not trying to be an asshole here. But I... I’m worried about you.”_

_“It’s fine,” Joe said. “Honestly, I’m fine.”_

_Britt just stared at him. “Joe...” she said, slowly, “do you even believe what you’re saying right now?”_

_“Yes,” Joe snapped, feeling a flare of irritation, “of course I do!”_

_“I just...” Britt’s shoulders slumped, and she looked sad all of a sudden. “God, I... I just want my best friend back, you know?”_

_“What the hell does that mean?” Joe asked, brows knitting together._

_“You’re just—you’re like... you’re so different now.”_

_“I’m not!” Joe protested._

_“You are,” Britt said, softly. “You just... you don’t look happy, Joe. Like, ever. It’s like... god, it’s like he’s sucking the life out of you.”_

_Joe drew in a sharp breath. “Britt, that’s not true,” he said. “And that’s a fucking shitty thing to say.”_

_“Yeah, but, Joe—”_

_“No,” Joe shook his head, “Britt, god, just—just drop it. Like you_ promised _me you would.”_

_Britt was still looking at him, and something about her gaze made it hard to meet her eyes. Joe looked away, out of the window, at a group of kids passing by on the street outside._

_And all of a sudden, he felt oddly disconnected from all of it. From the kids, laughing and joking on outside the window, from the general chatter and activity around them in the cafe—even from Britt. She was right there, opposite him, so close he could practically feel the concern emanating from her. But for a moment, it felt like she was far away, out of reach._

_He shook himself. After a moment, he heard Britt sigh. “Fine,” she said. “Fine. Just... you know I’m here, right, if you ever need to talk?”_

_Joe met her gaze, finally. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”_

_“And just one more thing—”_

_“Britt...” he started, warningly._

_“—you could do_ so _much better than that pretentious asshole.”_

_“Britt!”_

_She put her hands up. “Alright!” She said. “Sorry. I’m done.”_

_And true to her word, she said nothing else about it. Still, it felt, somehow, even after the conversation had moved on, that it was still hanging over them,_ _an uncomfortable, unspoken presence. And he couldn’t seem to stop turning over Britt's words in the back of his mind—for the rest of the afternoon, and even afterwards, as he walked home._

_He kept thinking about the way she'd looked at him. Like... like she felt sorry for him, or something. It made him feel... irritated._

_She didn’t need to feel sorry for him. He was fine. And he was happy._

_Or. Well. Maybe he wasn’t_ happy _, necessarily. But who the hell was happy all the time, anyway? Relationships were hard work, wasn’t that what people always said?_

_And alright, so maybe things between he and Matt were... difficult, right now. But they’d work it out. He’d talk to Matt about it. He just... he didn’t really want to push it, not right now, not when Matt was still so stressed out—about his exams, about trying to secure a summer internship with a good architecture firm._

_But even if they fought sometimes (though the fights were, admittedly, increasingly one sided nowadays, given Matt’s tendency to overreact to... well, almost everything, at the moment), and even if Matt wasn’t perfect—even if he’d made mistakes—he still loved Joe. And that had to count for something, right?_

_Especially since... well, it was just that—maybe Matt wasn’t the only one to blame here. Maybe_ he _wasn’t perfect, either._

_But Matt still loved him. And Joe didn’t want to lose that. He couldn’t lose that._

_(Because despite what Britt had said—that he could do better—there was a quiet, nagging little voice in the back of his head, one he couldn’t quite get to shut up, that wasn’t so sure about that. At all.)_

 

 *

 

“Okay,” Dan said, “so I know I said this would be like, the most fun ever, but there is a very real possibility I’m going to have a heart attack and die if we don’t take a break right now.”

Joe snorted. “Yeah, kinda have to agree with you on that one.” The only advantage of the last hour or so of moderately terrifying gameplay was that it had, to be fair, almost completely taken his mind off everything else. “Plus, it would be kind of inconvenient if you died in my living room.”

Dan paused the game and leant back against the couch. “Nice to know you care,” he said, dryly, “so... Mario Kart?”

“Mm, yeah, good idea.”

As they started up the new game, Joe glanced sideways at Dan. He bit his lip. “Dan...” he started, eyes still on the screen.

“Yeah?”

“You... you still see someone, right? Like, regularly?”

“Huh?” Dan asked, somewhat distractedly, attention still fixed on the screen. “Do I... Oh.” He turned to look at Joe. “Are you talking about my therapist?”

Joe nodded. It had been something that Zoe had said, a few days ago. She’d been seeing one for a couple of years now, to help with her panic attacks, and she had, tentatively, suggested that it was something he might think about.

“Yeah, I do,” Dan said. “Every couple of weeks.”

“And does it...” Joe started, eyes still fixed on the startup screen, bathing the darkened room in a soft blue glow. “I mean, I guess it must help, if you’re still going, but...” He trailed off, unsure of what to say. Or even what he was actually trying to ask.

“Yeah, it helps,” Dan said. “I mean, things are a lot better now than they were back in freshman year.” He paused, and the silence seemed to stretch out into the darkness for several moments. Outside, Joe could hear shouts and laughter, people heading out for the night. “Things were... well, they weren’t great back then. I guess I was just starting to realize that, like, my parents’ big plan for me, studying law... it wasn’t going to work out. I tried to talk to them about it, but they wouldn’t listen. And I was... I was having a pretty bad time. I was behind in all my classes. I thought about dropping out. Like, really seriously.”

“Oh,” Joe said, “I... I didn’t know.” He’d known Dan had struggled freshman year, but he hadn’t realized it had been that bad.

Dan shrugged. “We weren’t friends back then. Actually, I didn’t really have any friends, I guess that was part of the problem. Anyway... so, I talked to the college about dropping out, and they suggested I see a counsellor. Honestly, I didn’t even want to at the time. But in the end, talking things out... I guess it helped me realize that it wasn’t just me being lazy or unmotivated, that there was a bigger problem.”

Joe wasn’t quite sure what to say. He finally settled on, “well... good. Because you’re not,” adding, “lazy, I mean.” He’d spent enough study sessions with Dan in the library to know his habit of procrastinating had much more to do with being a perfectionist than it did to do with laziness or a lack of motivation. And he could relate, sort of—even if, with the exception of his art, his own tendency to procrastinate was probably more of a result of how easily distracted he was if he wasn’t interested in something.

Dan shot him a small smile. “No, I guess not,” he said, “I mean, maybe sometimes. But I realized it wasn’t.... that maybe it wasn’t my fault, if I couldn’t cope, if I couldn’t deal with it by myself.”

Joe nodded, slowly. “So... the counsellor did help, then?”

“Well, not him so much. He was kind of rubbish. Like, honestly, one of those nodding dogs would’ve been about as helpful.” At Joe’s questioning look, he added, “I mean, he let me do all the talking—and just sat there, nodding at everything I said. Oh, except, occasionally, he’d kind of just go... _hmm_ ,” Dan lifted a hand to his chin like he was stroking an invisible beard, brows knitted together as if deep in thought, “... and then he’d go back to nodding.”

Joe couldn’t help but laugh at the impression, and for a moment, the tension in the room lifted a little. “Sounds like a dick,” he said.

Dan snorted in amusement. “Yeah,” he agreed, “he kind of was, actually. But it was a start, I guess. And after that, I started seeing someone else, outside of the school, and she’s been pretty good. And I mean... well, depression isn’t something that just gets better overnight. But... in a weird way, it kind of helped me, finally realizing that. That no matter how hard you try, some things...” at this, he glanced at Joe, “some things don’t just go away by themselves.”

Joe couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Dan’s eyes. He poked at a stain on the carpet. “Yeah,” he said, quietly, so quietly he wasn’t sure Dan had heard him. “I... I know.”

When Dan spoke again, his voice was quiet, too. “Even if you ignore them,” he said, “even if you really want them to. Some things, you just have to kind of... learn how to deal with.” Joe heard him sigh. “And I... I think I’m starting to, now.”

He glanced at Joe again, and Joe wondered if Dan would ask some questions of his own, ask Joe why he wanted to know all of this. But he kept quiet.

“I... I’m not depressed, though,” the words slipped out, almost without Joe’s permission. He cringed, realizing how that might sound. “Not—not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he hastened to add. “I just—I don’t think... It’s not that—not exactly.”

Because even if things hadn’t been... great, lately (alright, so that was an understatement) it still didn’t seem fair to put himself on the same level as Dan, or Zoe—when he’d never struggled with things the way he knew they had.

Dan, thankfully, didn’t seem offended. He shook his head. “I’m not saying you are,” he said, saving Joe from having to attempt to explain himself any further. “It’s just that you... well, you went through a lot with Matt, and now...” he paused, looking as if he was trying to choose his words carefully, “well, I don’t think anyone would blame you, if... if you were having a hard time.”

Joe finally met his gaze. Dan was chewing his lip, looking worried—but Joe couldn’t see any pity in his eyes. Only understanding. And it kind of felt like, in a way, even if it wasn’t quite the same—that Dan _did_ understand. And there was something comforting about that thought.

He wasn’t sure what Dan saw in his expression, but he put his hands up. “I know, I know,” he said, “you don’t want to talk about it.”

Joe shot him a grateful look. Because, yeah, he’d definitely had enough talking for tonight.

“Anyway,” Dan said, voice brightening, “at least all of that helped me finally work up the courage to tell my parents that, sadly, their dreams of me being a lawyer just weren’t going to work out, because I wanted to study music instead.”

Joe couldn't help but smile at that. "I can't imagine you as a lawyer," he said, after a moment.

Dan laughed. “No, neither can I. I think that’s another thing that helps, you know. Doing what I love.”

“Yeah, that does help,” Joe said. Though, to be honest, he wasn’t sure how much it was helping right _now_ , since he couldn’t seem to find the motivation to actually get anything done. He hadn’t been to the studio in weeks. His end of year project was due in a couple of months, and he’d still barely started.

“And having Phil, of course,” Dan mused. Then froze, “oh, god, sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s fine,” Joe said, feeling a little pang in his chest.

Dan sighed. “Sorry. I—” he glanced sideways at Joe, “look, I won’t lie and say he hasn’t been a big help to me, because he has. But, still, Joe, I just—I hope you know you’re not alone in this. We’re all here for you. _I’m_ here for you. Whatever you need. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Joe said, giving Dan a small smile, “I know. Thanks, Dan,” he added, meaning it.

“Okay, well, good,” Dan said, nodding to himself. “Now, c’mon, we still have time for me to totally kick your ass. Like always.”

“Hey!”

That focused Joe’s attention on the game—though in the back of his mind, he was still turning over Dan’s earlier words.

It was just—well, it wasn’t that he’d ever thought there was anything wrong with the idea of seeing a therapist, or a counsellor, or whatever, in theory—he’d known Zoe had, for a while, had known it seemed to have helped her. But it had never been something he’d thought about for himself.

But now... well, he couldn’t deny how bad things had gotten. And he knew couldn’t entirely blame it on what had happened with Caspar, either—though that had certainly made it a whole lot worse. 

And he didn't... god, he _really_ didn’t know how to fix this. But maybe... maybe it was time to try.

After all, it could hardly make things any worse than they already were.

 

* 

 

Which was how, a little over a week later, Joe found himself in a bland, beige office, contemplating an inoffensive watercolor depicting a field of wildflowers, in a half hearted effort to avoid the gaze of the woman sitting opposite him.

She was maybe mid forties or early fifties, with short blonde hair and glasses, and was regarding him with a kind expression. They’d already gotten over the brief small talk— _how are you, what a nice day it is, how did you find the journey_ —and now he had no idea what to say.

“So,” she said, as she peered at him over her glasses, “this is your first time seeing a therapist, is that right?”

Joe nodded.

“And what’s brought you here today?”

“Uh, I... I guess I’ve been having some...” Joe started, gaze fixed over her shoulder at the fuzzy reds and blues of the wildflowers, “problems.”

She nodded, encouragingly. “What kind of problems?”

“I don’t... uh, I don’t really know where to start,” he admitted.

“You can start wherever you’d like. There’s no rush.”

“Uh. Well...” he looked down, fiddling with a loose thread on his sweatshirt, “I guess it probably goes back to.... um, I was dating this guy, for a while. And it was fine, in the beginning. It was good, actually. Really good. But then... it, uh. Then it wasn’t.”

He glanced up at her, wondering if any part of that had made sense. He couldn’t tell from her expression. All she said was, “I see. And how long did this relationship last?”

“Uh, about a year,” he said, then frowned, wondering why he was pretending not to know the exactly how long it had been. It was a strange habit he’d developed—this kind of deliberate vagueness whenever the subject of Matt came up. “Well, actually...” he corrected himself, “it was a year and half.”

She nodded, writing something down. Glancing up and seeing his expression, she said, “don’t worry, this just for my own reference. Helps me keep everything in order. So,” she continued, putting the pen down, “would you be able to tell me a little bit more?”

“Yeah, I... I guess.” He bit his lip, adding, after a few moments silence, “I’ve just... I’ve never really spoken to anyone about it before. I mean, I told my sister, and a couple of my friends some of it—and, well, some of it they figured out by themselves. But I—I don’t know....” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “God, sorry, I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

“No need to apologize,” she said. “It’s perfectly normal to find some things difficult to talk about,” she smiled kindly at him, “after all, if any of this was easy, I’d probably be out of the job.”

That startled a small laugh out of him. “Yeah,” he said, “I guess that’s true.” He paused, pulling the thread he’d been worrying at loose. “I just—I didn’t think I needed to, you know? I mean, we broke up. _I_ broke up with him. And talking about it just... it just seemed to make me feel worse. I just wanted to forget about it. And I... I guess I thought that I could. That the way I felt, that it would go away, after a while.”

She nodded, writing something in her notepad. She looked back up at him. “And did it?”

Joe felt his mouth turn up at one corner, a tiny echo of a smile. “Well... I’m here, aren’t I?

"Yes, you are," she said, giving him a not-quite-smile of her own. "So... do you think you'd like to talk about it now?"

“I...” Joe took a deep breath. “Yeah, I... I think I would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. They're STILL not back together. :( I'M SORRY. That will be happening very (very very) soon, I promise.
> 
> Also, sorry for the delay on this chapter (it's been like... three months? Oops). It took a loooong time to edit, and I'm still not really happy with it tbh. Hoping the next chapter won't take as long, as I'm already in the process of editing it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe.... that I finally finished this chapter. IT'S BEEN 84 YEARS. 
> 
> Again, please note the warnings at the beginning of the fic. Specific warning for this chapter for discussions of sexual situations which could be read as dub con.
> 
> Thanks to [wiseplant](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wiseplant) for betaing ♥

“You’re gonna come out tonight, right, Cas?”

Caspar, who’d tuned out the conversation around him in favor of focusing on Age of Empires, looked up at Oli. It was a warm, sunny Friday afternoon, and they were in den, not doing much of anything in particular.

“Uh... yeah,” he replied, distractedly.

“You’re definitely coming,” Josh said, “and we’re not gonna let you just mope in the corner this time.”

Caspar frowned. “I don’t mope in the corner.”

“You do, dude. Well,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “except for that one time, when you took that guy home.”

“What about it? I can take someone home if I want.”

Josh gave him a look. “Yeah, sure you can. But don’t you think that he maybe, _possibly_ , looked a little bit like someone?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Caspar mumbled, avoiding Josh’s annoyingly perceptive gaze.

That was a lie. He knew exactly what Josh was talking about. He’d just rather not discuss it. It had... well, it had been a mistake. He’d thought, at the time, that maybe it would make him feel better. But it had just made him feel a million times worse.

Still... that had been over two months ago now.

“Anyway,” he continued, keen to change the subject, “I actually have quite a lot of—”

Josh cut him off. “No,” he said, “just— _no_. Not the studying excuse again.”

“What?” Caspar asked, sparing him a quick glance, “I do actually have shit to do, you know.”

Josh looked unimpressed. “There’s _always_ shit to do,” he said, “but not on a Friday night.”

Oli nodded in agreement. “Yeah, c’mon, Cas,” he said, “you’re always working lately. You need a break.”

“Alright, alright,” Caspar said, “anything to get you two off my case, jeez. I’m trying to concentrate here.” He paused, adding, after a moment, “where is it, anyway?”

“Uh, not sure exactly,” Josh said, “it’s some friends of Alexa’s. Should be a good night, though. So, you’re gonna come, and you’re gonna promise to at least try and have a good time. No moping.”

“Fine,” Caspar said.

Who knew—maybe it would even be fun.

 

*

 

Joe stepped out into the sunlight. He took a deep breath, the fresh air welcome after the last hour in Dr. Peters’ stuffy office.

Glancing up at the blue skies above, he bypassed the stop for the bus back to campus, deciding to walk instead. It was too nice of a day to be cooped up inside, really—though that was probably how he’d be spending the rest of the afternoon, finishing off his end of year project. At least the studio was light and airy—pretty much the exact opposite of the dimly lit office he’d just left.

However, while the office itself certainly left something to be desired (and Joe didn’t think he’d ever hated a painting as much as that stupid watercolor which sat behind her chair) he couldn’t deny that the sessions themselves had actually been... helpful.

Even if he still sometimes didn’t want to go. Even if talking about some things still felt a bit like poking at a scab that had barely healed over (or pulling at a thread on a sweater, watching it all unravel, and then wondering if, maybe, it would have just been better to have left it alone).

It turned out, in short, that being emotionally healthy and self aware was really fucking hard work.

Still. He was... well, maybe _better_ wasn’t quite the right word, but better than he’d thought was possible a few months ago.

The windows in the studio were open, sunlight streaming in, a soft breeze fluttering the blinds, the fresh air a welcome relief from the ever present odor of paint fumes. He tapped out a quick message to Britt, letting her know what time to meet him. He didn’t really have very much to do today.

And that was another good thing—that this project, the one he’d been worrying about for months—since last semester, really, was very nearly done. He’d handed in the written work already, and now it was just a case of putting the finishing touches to the central piece. Finally.

He’d struggled with the project from the very start, hadn’t quite been able to figure out why, when art had never been something he’d found difficult. Challenging, maybe. But in an enjoyable way. This had been different. He hadn’t thought, at one point, that he’d ever finish it.

Now, he wondered if maybe part of the problem had been that he hadn’t really wanted to think about what exactly _an important experience in his life from the past year_ might be.

Whatever it was, inspiration had, finally, struck a few weeks ago, and since then he’d been spending practically all his time in the studio working on it.

He was still there, just over an hour later, when Britt arrived. He hadn’t even heard her come in, lost in thought (and the playlist blasting through his headphones) and he jumped when she appeared next to him, hand flying up to cover his pounding heart.

She laughed. “Wow, you were really in your own world there, huh, buddy?”

“Jeez... yeah, I guess I was,” he said, still getting his breath back.

She turned to look at the painting in front of them. “Oh,” she said, “is this...”

“Yeah.”

Britt dropped her bag and sat on the floor. Joe joined her, and they both looked up at the painting.

He’d chosen a narrow, rectangular canvas—it kind of reminded him of a picture window—and covered it in a kaleidoscope of what looked like hundreds of different colours. He thought they looked almost like fireworks—at first there didn’t seem to be much of a pattern, but if you looked closer, different shades were grouped together. There were bright, colorful areas, darker areas, and mixtures of both.

It was far more abstract than anything Joe had ever done. But he kind of loved it. A lot.

“It’s... incredible,” Britt said. “It’s like... it kind of reminds me of a sunset, actually. Or a sunrise. Or neither. I don’t know.”

Joe tilted his head. Now that she’d said it, he could kind of see what she meant. Funny, he’d never noticed it before.

“It’s... weird,” Britt continued, after a pause, “it’s like, it makes me feel... sad, somehow. But happy, too. Or, at least... like, hopeful?”

“Yeah, that’s... that’s kind of the idea,” Joe said.

Britt looked at the painting for a few more moments, before turning back to him. “So,” she said, “an important experience from the past year, huh?”

Joe nodded.

“Oh, JoJo,” she said, softly. She moved closer, resting her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her.

“You’re doing better, though, right?” She said.

“I... yeah. I am.”

“Good... that’s. Good.”

Joe thought, a few months ago, that this would be the time she’d tell him she was there if he ever wanted to talk. But, well, he’d been getting a little better at that. The whole talking thing. Just a little—but still, more than he ever had before.

“It really is beautiful, Joe,” Britt said, breaking into his thoughts. “I’m... god, I’m so proud of you. You know that?”

Something about her tone told Joe she wasn’t just talking about the painting. He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I know,” he said, quietly. And he thought, maybe, that he was kind of proud of himself, too.

They sat there a while longer as the sunlight began to fade, shadows stretching slowly across the floor. Finally, Britt got up, stretching, and Joe followed suit.

“So,” she said, “you’re coming tonight, right?”

Joe picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he said. He hadn’t been out in a while, actually, was kind of looking forward to it.

“Awesome,” Britt said, grinning, “‘cause it’s gonna be a good night. Great, even. Maybe even better than that one last summer, with the piñata, and that guy with the motorbike—”

Joe laughed. “Yeah, alright, Britt. You don’t have to convince me. I’m definitely coming. Also, I think you’re forgetting the part where we were picking broken glass out of the carpet for like a week afterwards.”

“Oh, yeah,” Britt said, scrunching up her nose, “who even puts champagne in a piñata, anyway? Well, this night will definitely be better, then,” she said, decisively, “or, at least, we won’t end up with broken glass in our living room. So really, either way, it’ll be a win.”

 

*

 

Caspar wasn’t sure what his expression looked like as they stepped into the party, but Josh gave him a sideways look. “Fun,” he said, “remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Caspar said. He gave the room a cursory glance, recognizing a few faces.

He felt Alexa put a hand on his arm, and looked down at her. “Come on, Casp,” she said, looking up at him hopefully, “just... try, alright? For me?”

He sighed. “Yeah, okay. Seriously, come on, guys, give me a chance. We only just got here.”

They went to get drinks and made their way slowly back through to the main room, stopping several times to say hi, mostly to people Alexa knew, before bumping into Oli and Alice, his new girlfriend—they’d met at the Kappa Nu party last year.

After a while Alexa spotted some more friends across the room and she and Josh drifted away, leaving Caspar with Oli, Alice and a few others, most of whom he knew by sight but not by name.

He ended up talking mostly to Alice, and as they spoke he realized, guiltily, that he hardly knew anything about her—despite the fact she and Oli had been dating for the past few months. He’d been... well, to say, he’d been distracted recently would be putting it mildly. But still.

Feeling like the shitty friend that, in all honesty, he probably had been, he focused his attention on trying to get to know her a little better. She was smart (unsurprising, given that she was pre-med, which he’d already known) and funny, with a somewhat dry sense of humor—one that seemed to go over Oli’s head a few times, though he gazed at her adoringly nonetheless.

She also had three older brothers, a fact which Oli, understandably, looked a little uncomfortable about. She was in the middle of a story involving two of them and what they’d done to a boy who’d bullied her in third grade (it had involved, somewhat inexplicably, a dead fish, and lot of paperclips) when Caspar looked up—and suddenly, he could no longer hear the words.

For the briefest of moments, everything seemed to stop. Because there, across the room, just a few meters away, was Joe.

Caspar felt his heart stutter, then begin beating again in double time. He realized with a start that Oli was talking to him.

“You alright, buddy?” He asked, frowning, following Caspar’s gaze. His eyes widened. “Oh, shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Alice asked.

“His ex is over there,” Oli told her. He looked at Caspar, worry creasing his forehead. “D’you wanna go?” He asked.

Caspar shook his head, mutely.

“Honestly, dude, it’s fine,” Oli said, “we can leave right now. I don’t mind.”

Caspar shook his head again. “No, I... no, I’m alright. I wanna stay.”

Oli gave him a skeptical look. “Alright... if you’re sure,” he paused, adding, “just don’t... don’t do anything stupid, alright?”

“I won’t,” Caspar told him, with a conviction he didn’t quite feel.

 

*

 

Caspar was trying his best to focus on the conversation going on around him. He really was.

It wasn’t going all that well. Thankfully, Oli had left the group a few minutes ago to dance with Alice, so Caspar didn’t have to deal with any concerned looks from him.

No matter how hard he tried, his eyes were drawn back, over and over again, to Joe. To where he stood, talking to a couple girls—one of them, a redhead, looked familiar, and Caspar struggled to place her, until (on his third or fourth glance) he realized it was the same girl he’d seen Joe talking to when he’d met him outside class one time, the one who’d asked him out.

The thing was, despite what he’d told Josh, and Oli, and everyone else, Caspar could admit to himself he wasn’t over Joe. He still missed him. Still had feelings for him. But the sharp, fresh hurt he’d felt immediately following the break up had dulled. Just a little, but still, enough that he’d hoped that maybe, he’d get over it, in time.

It had also been three months since they’d last seen each other, and maybe Caspar had hoped that the time would make it a little easier when he did see Joe again—after all, the campus was big, but it wasn’t _that_ big, and though he’d stopped going to places he knew Joe might be, like the Black Book, Caspar knew he couldn’t avoid him forever.

As it turned out, he’d been wrong on all pretty much all counts. Seeing Joe again... it was like no time had passed at all. It brought everything rushing back—all the feelings, all the memories, good and bad. And Caspar really didn’t know what to do with himself.

At least Joe hadn’t seen him. Caspar watched as he laughed at something one of the girls said to him, throwing his head back, and he felt his chest ache, surprised at the intensity of the feeling. He wanted to go to Joe, wanted to talk to him. Just wanted to be near him.

 _Fuck_. He had to stop this. He had to get a grip.

Though it felt almost impossible, he managed to drag his attention away from Joe. He grabbed one of the shots being passed around, and then another, hoping maybe it would help.

“Rosie, hey!” Someone from his group called, and he looked up to see the redheaded girl and her friend, the ones Joe had been with a few minutes ago. He glanced back over to where Joe stood, and saw he was now talking to a guy Caspar didn’t recognize.

Caspar frowned. Even from here, something just looked... off about it. The lines of Joe’s body were stiff, tense, and though the guy was leaning towards him, right into Joe’s space, Joe was leaning away.

He moved closer to where the girl and her friend stood. “Hey... Rosie?” He tapped her on the shoulder.

She turned, looking up at him with a confused frown. “Hey... do I know you?”

“I’m Caspar. I’m...” he hesitated, “I know Joe.”

“Caspar... oh.” Recognition flashed in her eyes. “Right. Yeah, Joe did mention you.”

“Mm,” Caspar said. He resisted the urge to ask, exactly, what Joe had said about him. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know, to be honest.

She looked like she might say something else, but Caspar got there first. “Do you know who that guy is?” He asked. “The one over there, talking to Joe?”

“Hm?” She turned in the direction Caspar had indicated, trying to pick them out among the throng of people. “Oh...” she said, finally, making a face, “that’s his ex, Matt. Kind of a jerk, if you ask me.”

They both turned to look, and as they watched, Matt put his hand on Joe’s arm. Joe tried to pull away, and Matt tightened his grip, yanking him back a little.

Before he’d even realized what he was doing, Caspar was pushing his way through the crowd. Nearing them, he saw that Joe was shaking his head, still trying to pull away, as Matt was saying something to him.

“C’mon, Joe, I just wanna talk—”

“I don’t think he wants to talk to you,” Caspar cut in.

Joe turned to see who had spoken, and Caspar saw his eyes widen a fraction before his expression smoothed over again.

“And who the hell are you?” Matt asked, squinting at him. His words were slurred ever so slightly.

Caspar opened his mouth, but Joe got there first. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, gaze flicking to Caspar before cutting away again.

Caspar swallowed. God, if he thought seeing Joe from across the room had been hard—well, this was something else.

He was distracted, however, the next moment, when he noticed Matt still had a hold on Joe’s arm. The grip looked tight enough to bruise, and Caspar felt a jolt of anger. “Get your hand _off_ him,” he ground out.

“Caspar,” Joe said, “don’t—”

“It’s none of your...” Matt started, at the same time. Then he stopped. “Hold on a second— _Caspar_ ,” he repeated, his eyes lighting up, “is this the guy you dated after me? The... football player?" The words were practically dripping with condescension, but Caspar couldn't be bothered to get worked up about it. He didn't really give a fuck about Matt's opinions on his extracurriculars—or anything else, for that matter.

Joe’s head snapped back to him. “Leave it, Matt.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Matt said, looking between the two of them. “I heard it didn’t work out. Too bad. What happened?”

“None of your fucking business,” Caspar said, “now leave.”

Joe pulled his arm out of Matt’s grip. “Caspar’s right,” he said, “I think it’s best if you go.”

A nasty expression crossed Matt’s face, and he turned back to Joe. “Heard you only managed a few months this time,” he said, “didn’t stick around long, did he?” He widened his eyes in mock concern. “What happened, hm, Joe? He get sick of you?”

Hurt flashed across Joe’s face. It was only a split second, but Caspar caught it, before his expression shuttered again.

“That’s enough—” he started.

But Matt continued, ignoring him, attention focused on Joe. “That’s it, isn’t it?” He said, expression almost gleeful. “I thought so. He got sick of you, just like I did.”

“I’m the one who broke up with you,” Joe said, quietly.

Matt’s eyes narrowed, and his hand shot out, closing around Joe’s wrist, wrenching Joe back towards him. “I was the best thing that ever happened to you,” he hissed, “I don’t know why I stayed with you for so long, waste of my _fucking_ time—”

“I said that’s _enough_ ,” Caspar snapped, stepping closer and shoving Matt in the chest, hard. “Get the fuck out. _Now_.”

Matt stumbled backwards, righting himself with what looked like some difficulty. When he spoke, though, his tone was almost casual. “No,” he said, “no, I don’t think I will.” He tilted his head to one side, considering Caspar. “Can’t say I blame you, by the way. He’s not worth the hassle. Though I’ll admit, he does give great head—”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence, because the next moment, he was on the floor. Caspar looked at his fist in vague surprise, and then at Joe, who was staring at him with an expression Caspar couldn’t read.

He glanced down at Matt, who’d pushed himself up onto his elbows. “You’re gonna regret doing that,” he spat at Caspar. He began to get up, swaying unsteadily. Caspar noted, with some satisfaction, that there was blood dripping from his nose. “You want a fight? I’ll fuckin’ _give_ you a fight—”

“Don’t think so, buddy,” someone said, and Caspar turned to see Oli, followed by Josh. They pushed through the crowd of people who Caspar was just now realizing must have gathered after he’d thrown the punch, and caught Matt as he lurched unsteadily towards Caspar.

“Let’s go,” Josh said, grabbing hold of one of his arms. Oli took the other.

“What the—get the _fuck_ off me,” Matt snarled, struggling against them. But there were two of them and one of him, and besides, he was clearly pretty drunk.

Caspar watched them go for a moment, and then winced at the throbbing pain in his hand. “Ow. That hurts,” he said, a little surprised. He’d never punched anyone before. He hadn’t quite realized how painful it would be.

“Yeah, obviously,” Joe said. “Come here, let me see it.” He took Caspar’s hand in his, turning it a little. “Shit, sorry,” he said, at Caspar’s hiss of pain. “I don’t think anything’s broken... can’t really tell, though.”

Caspar barely heard him. Joe’s touch was pleasantly cool against his throbbing hand, the simple contact enough to send sparks coursing through him, like electricity under his skin. He felt his heart speed up.

“Caspar?” Joe looked up at him—and froze, dropping Caspar’s hand like he’d been burned.

They stared at each other for several long moments, before they were interrupted by Alice.

“Hey,” she said, “I just saw Oli, he and Josh are putting that guy in a cab. I, uh, think they just wanted to throw him out onto the street, but the Phoebe and Kat, it’s their house, said we should get a cab for him. He was pretty wasted. Anyway,” she said, nodding at Caspar, “Oli asked me to come check you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Caspar told her, at the same time Joe said, “he hurt his hand.”

“Oh, let me take a look at it,” she said, adding, to Joe, by way of explanation, “I’m pre-med.” She took Caspar’s hand, falling silent as she examined it. “Well," she said, finally, "obviously, no one ever taught _you_ how to throw a punch properly. But it’s not broken. Though it’s probably going to swell if you don’t get some ice on it pretty soon.”

“Come on,” Joe said, “we can get you some ice from the kitchen.”

Alice looked between them. “I’ll... go tell Oli you’re alright,” she told Caspar.

Caspar gave her a grateful nod. He followed Joe to the kitchen, cradling his hand, which was still throbbing painfully. He watched as Joe pulled a bag of ice out of the freezer, handing it to Caspar, who pressed it to his hand.

“Fuck, _cold_ ,” he muttered, grimacing. After a few moments, though, it felt like it was helping a little. He sat down at the kitchen table.

An awkward silence ensued. Joe shifted from one foot to the other, and Caspar saw him glance at the door, hesitating.

And— _no_. No, no, no.

“So...” he began, abruptly, still not quite knowing what to say, but wanting to stop Joe from leaving.

That, at least, got Joe to turn back towards him—only now, Caspar found himself distracted by just looking at him. He could see, now, under the bright kitchen lights, that there were dark circles under his eyes, a tiny speck of blue paint on his temple, near his hairline.

Fuck, he was so beautiful. And Caspar loved him so much—and god, he shouldn’t, _couldn’t_ think that, but he did—and for a moment, it was like he couldn’t quite breathe through the feeling, heavy in his chest.

And shit, he _still_ couldn’t think of anything to say.

Finally, after way too long a pause, he managed to finish, lamely. “So, um... how have you been?”

“I’ve been, uh... good,” Joe said, looking at him a bit oddly. “How... what about you?”

“I... I’ve been good, too,” Caspar replied. He cast about for something, anything else to add. “I declared my major,” he eventually settled on. “Business.”

Joe's eyes widened a fraction. "Oh."

Caspar shifted in his seat. “Yeah, I... well, it turns out you were right all along. So thank you.”

Joe shook his head. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Caspar shrugged. “Well, I want to.”

They lapsed into silence. Caspar adjusted the ice pack on his hand, which was starting to go numb.

This time, it was Joe who spoke again. “You didn’t have to punch him, you know,” he said. Caspar looked up at him. His arms were crossed.

 _Yes, I did,_ Caspar barely restrained himself from saying. Apart from anything else, he could admit that probably wasn’t quite true. But still...

“I just...” he said, “I couldn’t let him talk to you like that, Joe.”

“Okay...” Joe said, slowly, “but like I said, you didn’t have to _punch_ him. He was just trying to get a rise out of you.”

Caspar said nothing for a moment. Because, yeah, in retrospect it _did_ seem obvious that at the end there Matt had being trying to do just that. But everything else... well, that had seemed pretty exclusively directed at Joe, in a way that Caspar hadn’t liked. At all.

“I just...” he said, unable to stop some of the anger he still felt from creeping into his tone, “the things he was saying—the way he was talking to you. That guy is a fucking asshole.”

“Believe me,” Joe said, “I know.”

“But I’m sorry that I... that I got in the middle like that. I know it’s—” he swallowed, feeling a dull ache in his chest, “it’s not my business. I just—” he trailed off, chewing his lip. He should stop, shouldn’t he? He was just setting himself up to get hurt again.

God, he wished he knew what Joe was thinking. Glancing down, Caspar noticed he was rubbing his arm, the one Matt had grabbed, and frowned. “Is your arm okay?”

“What?” Joe said, then seemed to realize what he’d been doing, letting his hand fall. “Yeah, it’s fine, Caspar, don’t worry about it. How’s your hand?”

“Let me see it,” Caspar said, ignoring the question.

“I said it’s _fine_ ,” Joe said, firmly.

Caspar fell silent. He thought about getting up and pushing Joe’s sleeve up himself. But, somehow, that didn’t feel like the right thing to do.

“So that’s the guy you told me about,” he said, instead. “Your ex.”

Joe shifted. He looked uncomfortable, Caspar thought. “Mm. Yeah.”

“You...” Caspar hesitated, “you said he cheated on you, and you broke up with him...” He glanced back up to see Joe watching him, teeth pressed to his lower lip. “But... but was there more to it?”

Joe looked away. His expression had gone carefully blank, and Caspar hated it. He hated that expression. It was the same one he’d worn that day, when they’d fought, when Joe had tried to tell him that what happened had been nothing.

“Why do you care, Caspar?” Caspar thought maybe Joe meant to sound accusatory, but instead he just sounded a little lost.

“Because...” Caspar swallowed, "because I care about you.”

He caught a flicker of emotion on Joe’s face. Surprise, and something that looked, a little bit... like hope?

But then he shook his head. “I... I can’t—I don’t want to talk about this with you.”

“Joe—”

“No,” Joe said, “no. I—I should go. I... I’m sorry about your hand.”

Caspar called after him again, but he was already leaving.

And maybe Caspar should just drop it. Maybe he should let it be. But... but that split second of emotion that had flashed across Joe’s face when Caspar had said he still cared about him.

He had to find out what that had meant... one way or the other, he just needed to _know_.

He stood up, belatedly remembering the bag of ice. He dropped it on the table, and followed Joe, pushing his way through the mass of bodies, looking over their heads, trying to spot him.

He finally reached the front door and stepped outside. It was warmer tonight than it had been back in January, but he still couldn’t help thinking it was a strange echo of that night, when he’d left Joe at Jack and Conor’s. Only this time, their situations were reversed. He looked around, but the darkened street was empty, and his heart began to sink.

He was beginning to debate with himself whether or not it was a good idea to show up at Joe’s apartment (it probably wasn’t) when he finally caught sight of Joe, leaning against a wall a few houses down, looking at his phone.

“Joe,” he called out, already making his way over.

Joe looked up. “Caspar,” he sighed, “you should go.”

“I want to talk to you.”

“My Uber’s arriving in two minutes.”

“Alright,” Caspar said, “but we need to talk.”

“Caspar—”

“Just hear out me out, okay?” Caspar spoke quickly, “I’m sorry, I... I shouldn’t try to force you to talk about things if you don’t want to... if you don’t want to tell me. I should never have done that.”

“Okay...?” Joe said, frowning, looking a little confused.

“But I just—Joe, I just need to know...” he swallowed, “look, if you—if you tell me right now, that you don’t have any feelings for me, then I— swear to god, I’ll leave you alone. I won’t bother you again.”

Joe stared at him. “Caspar...” his voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “I—I can’t...”

“You can’t... what?” Caspar asked, unable to stop the hope from creeping into his voice.

“Why...” Joe said, voice so low now Caspar could barely hear him, “why are you doing this?”

“Why won’t you answer me?”

“Caspar... please, just—just _leave_ it.” His voice cracked slightly on the words, and part of Caspar _did_ want to leave it. Anything to stop Joe sounding like that. But still...

“I just... I don’t get it,” he said, “why things ended the way they did. And that night, at Jack and Conor’s, when I walked in on you and that guy. How... how could you do that?”

Joe looked up sharply at that. “How could _I_ do that?” He sounded... angry, Caspar thought. Which was confusing. “Look, that—it didn’t mean anything. I was drunk, I didn’t even realize what was happening. And why the hell do you care so much, anyway, when you’re the one who broke up with _me_!”

 

*

 

Joe stopped, drawing in a sharp breath, already regretting his words. He’d said too much. Way too much. God, he just... he couldn’t deal with this. Caspar appearing, suddenly, after all this time. Acting so goddamn _concerned_ , telling Joe he still cared about him.

And what made it even worse was part of Joe wanted so badly to believe him. But how could he? It was just as he’d said. Caspar had been the one who’d ended it. So even if he was having second thoughts, who was to say how long they’d last?

He realised, belatedly, that Caspar had gone silent. He’d expected an equally angry reply, but looking up, he was surprised to find Caspar staring at him, mouth slightly open, as if in shock. Joe frowned.

“I...” Caspar said. “What the hell do you mean? I didn’t... I didn’t break up with you.”

Joe stared at him. “What? Yes... yes you did.”

Caspar was looking at him like he was crazy. “Joe, I think I would remember that! I don’t even— _when_?”

“What do you mean, _when_?” Joe snapped, frustrated. “We had a fight, Caspar, and you broke up with me! How the hell could you forget that?”

At that moment, his phone began to buzz. Feeling around in his pocket, he pulled it out. “It’s my Uber,” he said, blankly. He looked down the street, could see a car pulling up in an empty space a few meters away.

Caspar swore. “Joe,” he said, “you can’t— _please_ don’t leave right now. We need to talk about this.”

Joe just stared at him. Two minutes ago, he’d been ready to jump in a cab and get out of here as fast as possible. But now...

“Please?” Caspar said.

Joe found himself nodding.

“Okay, great, just—one second,” Caspar said. “Don’t—don’t go anywhere, alright?” He called over his shoulder. He sprinted over to the car, leaning down to talk to the driver.

Joe couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but the driver sounded annoyed. He had the vague, ridiculous thought that this was going to affect his star rating. And then Caspar was back.

“Joe, I... I don’t get it,” he said, brows knitting together. He looked confused. “We had a fight, yeah, of course I remember that. But that’s all it was. I didn’t—why would you think—”

“I... you said—” Joe winced, hating how shaky his voice sounded. “You said you couldn’t deal with...” he hesitated, swallowing hard. _With me_ , he thought. Though Caspar hadn’t said it in so many words, that had been what he’d meant. Hadn’t it? “You said you’d leave me alone, if—if that’s I wanted. And you... you left.”

Caspar blinked. “I said...” he trailed off. He looked, suddenly, horrified. “And you thought... you thought that was me breaking up with you?”

Joe just stared at him, not quite able to comprehend what he was saying.

“Joe...” Caspar said. He stepped a little closer. “I didn’t—I was angry. Because you wouldn’t talk to me. And I said some things I didn’t mean, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have walked out like that... I just. I didn’t know what else to do. But that wasn’t... that was _not_ me breaking up with you.”

“I... I thought...” Joe trailed off. Against his better judgment, he felt a tiny spark of hope ignite in his chest.

“But why...” Caspar said, voice breaking, “how could you _think_ that? That I’d... that I’d just—end it like that, over one stupid argument? I would never... I _could_ never—" he let out choked laugh, "that... that was the literal _opposite_ of what I wanted—I mean, god, I was so fucking in love with you—” He stopped, eyes widening, seeming to realize what he'd said.

“You... were?” Joe couldn’t help but notice the past tense, felt the tiny, fragile spark flicker dangerously.

“I am,” Caspar said, quietly, “I—god, I couldn’t just stop, Joe. I tried, but...” He stopped, shaking his head, ruefully. “Fuck, I... I wasn’t going to tell you that. I didn’t wanna freak you out.”

“I...” Joe’s throat felt dry. He swallowed, trying again. “I’m not freaked out.”

“You’re... you’re not?”

Joe shook his head. And then he was closing the gap between them, leaning up, bringing their mouths together. Caspar met him halfway, kissing him desperately, hands stroking over Joe’s face, his arms, his sides, pushing up under his jacket, like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch most. "Joe," he murmured against Joe's mouth, "fuck, _Joe_ —"

Joe threaded his fingers into Caspar’s hair, pulling him down further so he could deepen the kiss. His grip was maybe a little too tight, but he didn't think Caspar would mind—and he didn't, if the way he groaned softly against Joe's lips was any indication. One hand splayed, big and warm, against Joe’s back, pressing him closer.

After what felt like a long time, and yet not nearly long enough, they finally pulled apart for air, Caspar leaning his forehead against Joe’s as they both tried to catch their breath. Joe felt a few light drops against his skin, realized it had started to rain. Not that he really cared right now.

He reached up, fitting his palm to the curve of Caspar’s jaw, stroking his cheek, feeling the soft scritch of barely there stubble. He found his eyes taking in all the little details of Caspar’s face. The low light of the street made it hard to see, but it didn’t matter. He knew them all anyway, had seen that face in his mind, in his dreams, for so many months. Even when he hadn’t wanted to. Even when he’d tried his hardest to forget.

And suddenly, the words were on the tip of his tongue, just waiting. That one final truth he hadn’t quite been able to admit to himself these past few months.

“I..." he swallowed, hard, trying his best to keep his voice steady, "I love you too, you know."

He watched Caspar’s expression, watched his face light up with the same emotions Joe knew must be mirrored in his own.

And as Caspar looked down at him, Joe could see now, with abrupt clarity, what Dan had meant when he’d said, all those months ago, that Caspar looked at him like Joe was the best thing he’d ever seen.

He pulled Joe close, arms tightening around him as he pressed his face into Joe's hair, murmuring his name in the same tone as before—like he was... amazed, or something (though, actually, maybe that made sense—that was how Joe felt, too). Joe buried his face in Caspar's chest, breathing in deeply, inhaling the same familiar, comforting scent that had long since washed out of the too-large hoodie which still sat in the back of his closet.

“God, Joe, I—I missed you,” Caspar said quietly, “so much. You have no idea.”

“I think I have some idea,” Joe said, voice a little muffled.

He wasn’t sure if Caspar had heard him properly, but the next moment, he was pulling back, looking down at Joe. He looked sad, brows knitted together, and Joe wanted to reach up, smooth out the lines, make him smile again. “I’m sorry,” Caspar told him.

“For what?”

“I don’t know... for everything,” Caspar frowned, as if searching for the words. “I’m just... I’m sorry that everything had to happen the way it did.”

Joe was quiet for a moment. There were a lot of things he wanted to say to that, starting with the fact that Caspar didn't have anything to be sorry for—but he didn’t want to ruin the moment. “I know,” he said, instead, “but... we’re here now.”

“Yeah,” Caspar said, “we are.” He paused, chewing his lip, looking hopeful. “So, d’you want to... can we try again?”

And really, there was only one way to answer that. “Yes,” Joe said, “of course I— _yes_.”

Caspar started to say something—and then swore, wincing.

“What is it?” Joe asked, frowning, “is it your hand? Let me see.”

Caspar nodded, lifting the offending hand from Joe’s shoulder, letting Joe look at it. “I think... uh, maybe I used it a little too much, just now.”

Joe paused in his examination, staring at Caspar, feeling his mouth curving into a smile. “You hurt your hand kissing me?”

Caspar laughed. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said, adding, “worth it, though.”

“You’re an idiot,” Joe said, aware of how fond he sounded, “you need to get some ice back on this. I wonder if those girls—what were their names? You know, the girls who live here, if they’d let us take—”

He was cut off by Caspar kissing him again. Joe couldn’t help but respond, for several long moments, enough to make him feel a little light headed as he pushed Caspar gently back. “Stop it,” he said, “you’re gonna hurt your hand again.”

“It’s f—” Caspar started, and then they both jumped at a voice behind them.

“Kind of seems like they’ve already worked it out.”

It was Oli, standing there with Britt, both of them regarding Caspar and Joe with what Joe was pretty sure was amusement.

“So Oli and I were just talking,” Britt said, “and we figured out there’s been kind of a misunderstanding, and that you guys really need to talk, so we’ve been trying to find you both for the past twenty minutes... but, well...”

“Looks like you guys already figured it out,” Oli finished.

“Yeah, we did,” Joe said.

“Great,” Britt said, “so, mind if I ask what you two idiots are still doing standing out here in the rain?”

“Uh...” Caspar said. He looked at Joe, who shrugged.

“Oh my god,” Britt said, rolling her eyes, though she was smiling a little, “go home. To one of your homes. Whichever. Like, seriously, this is all very Nicholas Sparks, and I kind of love it, but one or both of you is going to catch pneumonia.”

Oli snorted, and he and Britt shared an amused look.

Joe looked at Caspar. “That’s probably a good idea,” he said.

“Yeah,” Caspar said, and the smile he gave Joe had always been one of Joe’s favourites—the one that always made him feel that somehow, everything was going to be alright. “Yeah, let’s go home.”

 

*

 

“Joe?”

“Huh?” Joe turned to see Caspar kicking the door to Joe and Britt’s apartment shut behind him. He nodded down to the ice pack he was still holding to his hand.

“Can I take this off now?” He asked, pouting. “It’s cold. My hand’s gone numb.”

“Yeah, fine,” Joe said, rolling his eyes. “You big baby.” He took the ice pack from Caspar and deposited it on the side table, next to the bowl of keys and the Pop! Chewbacca figure (Joe had protested back when they'd first moved in, but Britt had insisted that not only was it appropriate hallway decor, but also that it “set the right tone for anyone entering the apartment”—whatever the hell _that_ meant).

“Let me see,” he said, taking Caspar’s hand. He winced. “Fuck, it is cold.”

“Told you.”

Joe ignored him, turning Caspar’s hand over in his. Temperature aside, it didn’t look as though there was any swelling. “Does it hurt?”

Caspar flexed his fingers, rolling his wrist a bit. He shook his head. “Not so much now.” He stepped closer. “C’mere,” he whispered, pulling Joe closer and tilting his chin up.

He leant down until their lips met, mouth moving over Joe’s, gentle, with a hesitancy that had Joe leaning up, pulling him down further as he opened wider, slipping his tongue into Caspar’s mouth. He reached behind himself as they kissed, fumbling for a moment until he found Caspar’s still freezing hand, moving it under his shirt, holding it there, shivering at the feel of Caspar’s icy palm against the warm skin of his back.

Caspar made a soft noise into his mouth. He pulled back a fraction, looking down at Joe, a complicated tangle of emotions traveling over his face. When he spoke his voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “God, Joe, I... I kind of can’t believe you’re here.”

And, well, it wasn’t exactly the right moment for a joke—but Joe couldn’t resist. “Mm, well, this _is_ my apartment.”

Caspar just smiled, shaking his head a little. “Shut up,” he said, “you know what I mean.”

Joe bit his lip. “Yeah,” he said, quietly, “I do.” Because he couldn’t quite believe Caspar was here, either—standing in his hallway, warm and solid and real. It felt worryingly like Joe might blink, look away for minute—and he'd would be gone again. 

Caspar’s expression had turned serious. “Joe...” he started, a little haltingly. “I... I know you—you said you thought that fight was,” his forehead creased, “me breaking up with you. But after that... I called you, I texted you. And you didn’t... I mean—why didn’t you...”

Joe swallowed. “I...” he couldn’t quite look at Caspar for a moment. His eyes fell on Chewbacca. The little plastic Wookie gazed back at him with its vacant, beady eyes, utterly unhelpful. “I just...” There were so many things he could say—all of which seemed to hold the frightening potential to shatter this new, fragile thing between them.

Eventually, he settled on, “I’m sorry. It was... I was being stupid.”

Caspar shook his head, slowly. “I don’t believe that,” he said. But he didn’t sound accusatory. Just kind of... sad.

 _It’s true_ , Joe thought. But he said nothing. He sighed. “Can we... can we talk about it tomorrow?” He asked, finally. “I just... tonight, I just want...” He trailed off, not quite sure what he was trying to say—except that right now, he was happier than he could remember being in a long time, and there was a nagging little voice in his head that kept telling him that if he wasn’t careful, he was going to mess everything up again.

He half expected Caspar to disagree. But he just nodded. “Yeah,” he said, softly, “yeah, okay.”

Joe kissed him again, before he could change his mind. Caspar responded eagerly, all trace of hesitance gone now as he pulled Joe flush against him, so close, and yet somehow nowhere near close enough, the kiss growing steadily hotter and dirtier.

He felt Caspar’s hands slide down to grip his thighs, felt his feet leave the floor. He wrapped his legs around Caspar’s waist as Caspar stumbled two steps forward, pressing him against the wall. Joe moaned into the kiss, feeling arousal sparking in his belly. Not that he was particularly inclined to admit this, ever, but something about Caspar being able to manhandle him so easily always got him.

“Joe, _fuck_ ,” Caspar panted against his mouth. “Bedroom?”

Joe nodded—but then shook his head as Caspar tightened his grip and stepped away from the wall. “Wait, stop,” he said. “Put me down.” Caspar’s brows knitted together in confusion, but he obediently deposited Joe back onto the floor.

“Your hand, you idiot,” he said, by way of explanation.

“It’s fine,” Caspar said, as Joe led him down the hall. “You’re not that heavy.” Joe pushed open his door and Caspar followed him through. He looked back to see Caspar frowning. “Have you lost weight?”

Joe just shrugged, a little uncomfortably. “I dunno,” he said, honestly, fingers stilling in the process of unbuttoning his shirt. It was possible, he supposed. Until recently, he’d hardly been going to the gym—and he probably hadn’t been eating enough, either. “Why?” He couldn’t seem to stop himself asking, “do I look—”

Caspar was already shaking his head. “No,” he said, stepping closer, hands taking over from Joe’s, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way. “I didn’t mean it like that.” His eyes drifted down Joe’s chest. “You’re beautiful,” he said, softly.

Joe pretended his cheeks weren’t heating up at that, busied himself with shrugging off his shirt, unbuckling his belt. He sat on the edge of the bed, wriggled out of his jeans, a little awkwardly.

Caspar pulled off his shirt, stepping closer, and Joe hooked a finger into his belt, drawing him towards the bed, pulling Caspar down on top of him and bringing their mouths together again, slower now, but with a growing undercurrent of intensity that felt like it was buzzing under his skin, steady and insistent.

He tightened his fingers in Caspar’s hair, hooking a leg around his thigh. Caspar groaned, slipping an arm under Joe’s waist, pressing them closer. The friction felt amazing, the rough material of Caspar’s jeans rubbing against his dick through his boxers, and Joe couldn’t think, so turned on he was dizzy with it, arousal cut through with a sharp edge of desperation he couldn’t quite seem to shake.

“Caspar,” he panted, “Casp, please—”

“Yeah,” Caspar murmured against his mouth, stroking his face, “yeah, yes, god, _anything_ —”

“Want you,” he mumbled, “please.”

Caspar drew back, looking down at him. He was flushed, still breathing hard. “You’ve got me,” he whispered. And before Joe could collect his thoughts enough to know what to do with _that_ statement, he continued. “D’you have...?” He asked, licking his lips.

“Yeah,” Joe murmured, “same place.”

Caspar clambered off him, reaching over to grab the lube from the drawer of Joe’s nightstand. Joe slid his underwear down and off, tossing them to the side. Caspar climbed back over him.

“Joe...” he started, a little hesitantly, “did you—have you, I mean... with anyone else?”

It took Joe a moment to decipher the jumble of words, to understand what Caspar was asking. Then he shook his head. “No.” He paused, swallowed, then asked, “have you?”

Caspar was chewing his lip. “Yeah,” he said. “But we used protection, and I got tested again, anyway. But I have a condom in my wallet, if you want to—”

Joe shook his head “No,” he said, trying his best to dismiss the unwelcome images that flashed through his mind at Caspar’s words. “No, it’s okay.”

“Joe...” Caspar was looking down at him anxiously, “none of it meant _anything_ , alright?”

 _None of it._  Oh. That meant... “It was—more than once?”

“I... yeah," Caspar admitted, "but I—”

“It’s fine, Caspar," Joe cut him off, not really wanting to hear about it, "we were broken up.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Caspar insisted, “it wasn’t—they weren’t _you_.” He swallowed. “And I...” he added, quietly, “god, honestly, I was thinking about you the whole time.”

Joe didn’t quite know what to say to that, but he felt something in his chest untwist a little. He pulled Caspar down again, fitting their mouths together. Caspar kissed him back for a several long moments, nipping gently at Joe’s lower lip, pressing a final kiss to the corner of his mouth before moving down to his neck. Joe shivered as Caspar’s lips drifted over his pulse point, the exact spot that always went straight to his dick.

Caspar drew back, fumbling for the lube, pouring it over his fingers. Joe closed his eyes, feeling Caspar’s hand move between his legs, rubbing lightly over his hole before pressing slowly inside. He bit down on his lip, breath catching in his throat at the feeling.

“Okay?” Caspar asked, watching him.

“Yeah, m’fine," Joe replied, maybe a little too quickly.

"Mm hm," Caspar replied, sounding vaguely skeptical. He felt Caspar's lips move over his cheekbone, the curve of his jaw—soft, barely there kisses. After several, long moments, he felt another finger brushing his rim, lightly, testing.

“What are you waiting for?” He was trying for irritated, but it came out sounding breathless instead.

“Just going slow,” Caspar said, “I mean, if it's been... well. I just, don't want to hurt you.” Carefully, he slid a second finger inside, forehead creasing in concentration.

"Gonna be here next year if you keep going at this rate," Joe mumbled.

Caspar looked unfazed. "Worth the wait, then," he said, with a little smile.

Joe half laughed, turning his face into the pillow. He couldn't really bring himself to be annoyed about Caspar taking his time, when even this felt like... a lot, a little bit overwhelming. And it wasn't like he hadn't done this, himself, in the months they’d been apart, but this was so, so different, because it was  _Caspar_ —Caspar above him, his scent and his body on top of Joe’s, his stupidly long fingers moving, slowly and expertly, until—he heard himself let out a soft, breathy sound, embarrassingly close to a whimper, as Caspar grazed his prostate. 

“Caspar,” he winced at how desperate his voice sounded, “Cas, can you, please—”

 

*

 

“Yeah,” Caspar murmured, “yeah, baby, got you.” He pressed a third finger alongside the first two, curling them with practiced ease. Joe let out a quiet moan, biting down hard on his lower lip, cheeks flushed as he started to work his hips, moving back against Caspar’s fingers.

Caspar felt his cock twitch at the sight, achingly hard where it was trapped against his stomach. He did his best to ignore the increasingly desperate urge to get a hand on himself, kept moving his fingers inside Joe, focusing on hitting the same spot.

Joe made a choked sound. “Oh, _f-fuck_ , m’gonna—” he gasped, sounding almost surprised. He barely had time to reach down and wrap a hand around himself before he was coming, head tipping back, lashes fluttering.

Caspar stared down at him, eyes wide—because, _fuck_ , that had to be one of the hottest things he’d ever seen. He realized a second later his hand had stilled when Joe whimpered, grinding down on Caspar’s fingers as he rode out the last of his orgasm. “Fuck, yeah, that’s it, baby,” he murmured, barely even registering what he was saying, pressing kisses to Joe’s face.

He waited until Joe had got his breath back a bit before leaning down, kissing him tenderly. Joe responded slowly, panting a little against his mouth, making small, hurt sound when Caspar slipped his fingers out.

Caspar drew back, stroking his cheek, watched as Joe’s eyes opened and he blinked up at Caspar, still looking a little dazed. Caspar could tell the moment he seemed to come back to himself, because his eyes widened, gaze drifting down to where Caspar was hard, straining against his briefs, watching as Caspar reached down, pressing the heel of his hand against his dick, unable to stop himself letting out a low groan.

“Shit,” Joe said, “sorry. D’you want—”

Caspar licked his lips. “Can you just—your hand—” And he wanted—god, he wanted more, wanted to be inside Joe. But there was no fucking way he was gonna last.

He groaned, hips stuttering, as Joe slid a hand into his briefs, wrapping around his dick, rubbing his thumb over the head, wet with precome. Joe jerked him slowly, and Caspar whined, burying his face in Joe’s neck, embarrassingly close already just from Joe’s hand on him, from Joe touching him.

He knew Joe could tell, because his hand sped up, movements becoming rougher. It wasn't long before Caspar felt his arms begin to tremble as he struggled to hold himself up. “Fuck, Cas,” Joe murmured, voice gone low, “yeah, c’mon, come for me—”

“Oh god _—_ ah, fuck, _Joe—_ " Caspar moaned, hips jerking as he spilled over Joe’s hand. His arms finally gave out, and he all but collapsed against Joe, panting. Joe stroked a hand through his hair, fingers scratching lightly against Caspar’s scalp.

Eventually, he lifted his head, blinking down at Joe. They both just stared at each other for a moment. Now that the haze of arousal had faded, Caspar suddenly found he didn’t quite know what to say.

He watched as Joe bit his lip. “So...” he said, after a moment, and Caspar watched as the corners of his mouth turned up a little, like he couldn’t help but smile, “that, uh, well... that didn’t exactly go as planned.”

Caspar choked out a laugh. “No,” he said, “not really. Still pretty amazing, though.”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “Both of us came in like, two minutes.”

“You didn’t enjoy it?” Caspar asked, feeling himself pout a little.

He watched, with some satisfaction, as Joe’s cheeks turned pink. “I... yeah,” he admitted. “It was... alright, pretty amazing.”

“I know,” Caspar said. He was pretty sure the sight of Joe coming nearly untouched wasn’t something he was going to forget any time soon. Or ever.

He must have been looking pleased with himself, because Joe rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” he said, but his eyes were soft and warm with affection as he smiled up at Caspar. Then he made a face. “Ugh, this is fucking mess, though,” he said, gesturing between them.

Caspar yawned, setting Joe off too. “D’you wanna shower?” 

Joe shook his head. “No,” he said, punctuated by another yawn, “too much effort. C’mon,” he said, pushing at Caspar’s chest, “move. I’ll get something to clean us up.”

Caspar rolled off him, eyes slipping closed. He heard Joe get up. It seemed like only a moment later that he felt the bed dip, and he thought he must have drifted off for a second.

“Here,” Joe said, handing him a washcloth. He took it once Caspar was done with his half-hearted attempt to clean himself up, tossing it in the trashcan and climbing back into bed, reaching over to flip off the light.

“C’mere,” Caspar murmured, opening his arms. Joe pressed himself close, back to Caspar’s chest. Caspar threaded their fingers together, bringing them to rest on Joe’s chest, over his heart.

It didn't take long before felt Joe’s breathing starting to even out—and fuck, he’d missed this, missed the feeling of Joe falling asleep in his arms. Along with about a million other things—and the thought of how close he’d come to losing all of it, to losing _Joe_ , for good...

But he hadn’t. Because Joe... Joe loved him, too. And knowing that, it was like a missing puzzle piece finally slotting into place. Like everything suddenly made sense again.

Well... almost everything.

He recalled, with a uncomfortable jolt, Matt’s words. _He got sick of you, just like I did._

And the way Joe had looked... was that—god, was that really what he thought?

All this time, he’d thought that that the way he felt about Joe had been so, so obvious. To everyone around them, and especially to Joe. Had thought, in fact, that that was the problem—that it’d been too much, that _he’d_ been too much—and that Joe didn’t feel the same.

But that hadn’t been the problem at all, had it? If anything, it had been the opposite. Maybe he hadn’t made the way he felt clear enough? Maybe he—

His train of thought was interrupted as Joe shifted against him, making a soft, sleepy noise, fingers twitching against Caspar’s. He mumbled something barely decipherable, that might’ve been Caspar's name—and, god, Caspar loved him so much, the intensity of it felt almost like a physical thing in his chest, like it wanted to spill out of him, like his body couldn’t possibly contain it.

He tightened his arms a little, dropping a kiss to Joe’s shoulder before settling back against the pillow, letting his eyes slip closed again. He focused on the slow, steady rhythm of Joe’s breathing, letting the bone deep tiredness wash over him.

There was no use going back over everything. Because no matter how badly he wanted to know what Joe had really been thinking, what was going on his head, he'd already promised himself that this time, he wasn't going to push. He'd give Joe all the time in the world, if that's what he needed. 

He had Joe back, that was the most important thing. And the rest, well—they'd figure it out.

 

 

*

 

 

Joe drifted back to consciousness slowly. He rolled over, already halfway back to sleep, and then frowned a little when his arm collided with what was unmistakably another person.

For a few strange seconds, thoughts still fuzzy with sleep, Joe wondered if he was dreaming. He hadn’t slept in the same bed as someone else since...

He opened one eye. Caspar.

And then, he remembered. He wasn’t dreaming. Caspar was here.

He reached out, pulling his phone off the nightstand to check the time. It was just gone nine in the morning. He turned back towards Caspar. He was lying on his side, facing Joe, one arm stretched towards him. His expression was peaceful, relaxed in sleep, making him look younger, vulnerable. 

Joe closed his eyes, hoping for a few more hours' sleep—it was Saturday, and neither them had to be anywhere.

His brain, however, had other ideas.

He thought of the previous night, how hurt Caspar had been when he’d realized what Joe had thought, the way his voice had sounded when he’d told Joe he’d missed him, hated the thought that he’d been the one to cause that.

He’d been so convinced, at the time, that it'd been his fault, how things had ended between them. It had only been more recently he’d started to think that maybe it wasn’t, not completely—or, at the very least, that the blame didn’t rest entirely on his shoulders.

So much for that. Because it did, didn’t it? It had all been him. Just not in quite the same way he’d thought, back then.

He thought back, guiltily, to all the times he’d second guessed Caspar, doubted him, when Caspar had never given him any reason to.

And afterwards, when Caspar had tried to reach out to him... and Joe had ignored him, so sure Caspar would be better off without him. So sure he knew what Caspar was thinking. He hadn’t even given Caspar a chance. Hadn’t given him a _choice._

He’d thought, back when they’d first met, that he'd dealt with everything that had happened with Matt, that he'd gotten over it, that it wouldn’t affect things between them. (Of course, his version of _dealing with it_ , back then, had been to avoid thinking about it, _ever_ —and well, looking back, it wasn't exactly surprising how badly _that_ had worked out).

But he could see now, more than ever, just how much it had.

With a frustrated huff, Joe sat up, rubbing his eyes. It looked like sleep was out. With a final glance at Caspar, he rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom.

Thirty minutes, a long, hot shower and a cup of coffee later, he was starting to feel a little more human. He took a second mug back to the bedroom, hearing the water running as he passed the bathroom. Britt’s door was open, her room empty—Joe took a moment to feel both guilty and grateful, because if he knew Britt, she’d decided they needed time alone last night and had found somewhere else to stay—which meant Caspar must be up.

He bit his lip, remembered asking Caspar last night if they could _talk about it tomorrow_.

 _Yeah, but you don’t need to do it right_ now _, do you?_ Piped up a hopeful little voice in the back of his head. _What’s the rush? You could put it off a little longer, right?_

Joe sighed. That was true. But then... it was also kind of the reason everything had gone wrong before, wasn’t it?

He couldn’t let that happen again. So maybe _..._ maybe this time _,_ he needed to lay everything out on the line _,_ and just hope that Caspar would understand. That he wouldn’t change his mind. (And... if he _did_ —well, maybe it was better that happened now, rather than later.)

“Hey,” Joe looked up to see Caspar in the doorway, towelling his hair. He was wearing his jeans from last night, and nothing else. And... wow, okay, really not the time. “Can I borrow a shirt?” he asked.

Joe nodded, distractedly. “Yeah.” Caspar knew where they were. He watched as Caspar opened the drawer and rifled through until he found an oversized Nirvana t-shirt, one he’d borrowed several times before. (The last time, it had ended up in the laundry hamper. Joe had found it a few days after they'd broken up—at which point he  _definitely_ hadn’t taken it back out, and then waited a long time before washing it again.)

Caspar turned back towards him, and Joe wasn’t sure what his expression looked like, but it made Caspar’s brows knit together. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah...” Joe cleared his throat, “yeah, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” Caspar came to sit beside him on the bed. He was looking at Joe, forehead creasing in the way it always did when he was worried about something, and Joe felt his chest ache a little with just how much he loved him. 

_God, what if I fuck this up again? I can’t... I don’t think I can handle that._

“I think...” he swallowed, hesitating, stumbling over the words, “uh, I think, maybe, we should talk. I mean—I need to talk to you. I need to tell you—”

“Joe...” Joe stopped, gratefully, because he’d been beginning to ramble and that probably wouldn’t have led anywhere good. Caspar reached down, covering Joe’s hand with his. “Is... is this about Matt?”

“Yeah,” Joe said, without looking at him. “I... I kind of didn’t. I didn’t tell you everything, about what happened with him. And I... I think maybe I should have.”

Caspar’s eyes had flicked downwards, and, following his gaze, Joe saw the faint bruises on his forearm, where Matt had gripped it last night. Caspar frowned. He reached out, touch gentle, feather light as he ran his fingers over the marks.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Joe said, “it’s fine.”

Caspar’s eyes met his again. His mouth was set in a thin line. Then his expression softened. “Joe...” he said, “I meant what I said last night. It was wrong of me to try and force you to talk about it, I—I never should have done that, and I’m so sorry.”

“Caspar—”

“No, just—just listen, please,” Caspar said, earnestly, “I just—I want you to feel like... like you can talk to me, about anything, and I want you to feel like you can trust me. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to, if... if you don’t want to. I promise, I’m not gonna get mad about it, okay? I won’t push you.”

Joe looked up at him, surprised. “I... thank you,” he said. “But... still, you deserve to know.” Caspar opened his mouth, but Joe cut him off. “And I... I trust you.” And that, well—that wasn’t quite true. But... he was really trying. He _wanted_ to trust Caspar. He hoped that was enough.

Caspar blinked at him, and then his eyes warmed. He looked... pleased, Joe thought, and he felt a little guilty for the sort-of lie he’d just told. “Okay,” he said, softly, squeezing Joe’s hand. “Anything you want to tell me, Joe, I’ll listen.”

Joe closed his eyes. _Okay_ , he told himself, _I can do this_. _I_ can _. Just... don’t think about it. Don’t think about how he’s going to react._

“I lied to you,” he said, then winced, because that hadn’t exactly been how he’d wanted to start. “I mean...” he added, hurriedly, “what I told you, before, it wasn’t... well, it was kind of true. But that wasn’t all of it.”

Caspar made a soft noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah,” he said, “I... I kind of figured.”

“It was, uh...” Joe paused, running a hand through his hair. God, it was still so weird to talk about this. He hadn’t, really, with anyone—not the whole thing, anyway—with the exception of Dr. Peters. And that had been completely different to this. “It wasn’t just that he cheated on me. There was... other stuff.”

He couldn’t look at Caspar. He pulled his hand away, shifted on the bed, feeling suddenly like he needed distance between them. Caspar let him, said nothing.

“I don’t know where to start,” he said, quietly, after a moment.

“Maybe you could start at the beginning?”

Joe nodded, slowly. Somewhat reluctantly, he cast his mind back—even now, it still felt... wrong, somehow. There had been so many things he hadn't wanted to think about, to remember, for the longest time. He'd gotten pretty good at repression, at tucking things away into neat little boxes. (It had taken him a long time to figure out that now matter how hard he tried, it would never really work. That, inevitably, sooner or later, everything would tip back out, contents scattering, leaving an even bigger mess than before.)

“He was... it was good, at first,” he said, finally. He wondered if maybe Caspar wouldn’t want to hear that. It was so easy to cast Matt as the villain in all of this—but things hadn’t always been that black and white. If they had been, then maybe none of it would have happened. "It was back in freshman year, when I met him. And he was... I dunno, he just kind of seemed like the perfect guy. For me, anyway. We liked all the same things. He was into art too—knew more than me, even. I’d never met anyone like him before. And I... I felt like I could really be myself, with him. It was kind of... great."

He paused, staring at the wall in front of him, at his desk, sketchbook and pencils scattered across the top, at the wall of photos behind it. His eyes lingered on the couple of empty spaces where the ones with Caspar in them had been. They were still buried in a drawer somewhere. He wondered if Caspar had noticed they weren’t there.

"And I mean, it wasn't like it just changed overnight. It was... gradual. And I guess, at first, none of it really seemed like a big deal. Like, when he’d snap at me, or interrupt me... I guess I thought, each time, you know... this is like, a one off. Maybe he’s in a bad mood. Maybe what I’d been saying wasn’t actually that interesting. I don’t know, it was like... he was so full on, in the beginning. So I guess it just confused me even more, when he acted like that. But, then, at the same time... it was like he got even _more_ intense about us. He’d get jealous about the stupidest things. He’d always apologize after, though, say he was sorry, that he didn’t mean to act like that, that he was just afraid of losing me. And I... I believed him. It sounds stupid now.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Caspar said. “Joe, it really doesn’t.”

Joe bit his lip. “Still. Looking back, it seems so obvious. But at the time, I didn’t... well, I didn’t see it like that. I didn’t see _him_ like that. I just, I kept making excuses. Like when he’d act dismissive, or... or he’d get mad about some tiny thing. That used to happen a lot. It’s like I never knew what was going to set him off. And so after a while, I guess I just started trying to avoid anything that might. I didn’t even really realize I was doing it. And by then—I guess we must have been together for about, I dunno, like six months—”

Caspar made a noise. “Six months?” He asked. “How... how long were you together?”

“About a year...” Joe hesitated, “... and a half.”

“Oh,” Caspar said. “I guess... yeah, that—uh, that makes sense. From what you’ve said. Sorry. Carry on.”

Joe felt a small, uncomfortable prick of anxiety. Caspar was probably wondering how he could’ve been such an idiot, staying with Matt for so long. How could he not be? It was something he’d often wondered himself.

“Well, uh, by that point...” Caspar nodded to show he was listening. After a moment, Joe turned away again. It was just... easier not to look at him. “By that point, none of my friends really liked him very much. And the feeling was mutual. It was probably the worst with Britt, since she didn’t have any problem telling him exactly what she thought, to his face. But I... I didn’t listen. I just kept thinking, they’re seeing the worst side of him, he isn’t always like that. God, Britt tried to talk to me about it so many times. I... I think she still kind of blames herself, actually, for not doing more. But it wasn’t her fault.”

“It wasn’t _your_ fault, either," Caspar said. And part of Joe wanted to turn around, to look at him, try and figure out what he was thinking. But he kept staring ahead, gaze fixed on a spot in the corner of the ceiling where the paint had peeled away a little.

“I know,” he said, quietly, “I know, but... sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if I’d just left then. Before... before it got worse. I should have. I mean, I knew, by that point, that I wasn’t happy. But I just...” he trailed off, looking down at his hands. “Fuck, this is... this is harder than I thought it would be.”

“You don’t have to keep going,” Caspar said, “not if you don’t want to.”

Joe hesitated. He _didn't_ want to. But, well—probably best just to get it over with. He shook his head. "No... no, it's fine."

“Joe...” Caspar started, slowly, after a moment, “what... what do you mean, when you said it got worse?”

Joe fidgeted with the corner of the sheet. “Just like... a bunch of things. The stuff I already said. My friends, Zoe, they... I guess they could tell something was wrong, even though I hadn’t told them anything. They tried to talk to me about it, but I... I didn’t want to hear it. And we fought about it. After a while, I stopped seeing them as much. And I realize now that Matt encouraged it. He... he wanted that.”

His chest constricted, uncomfortably, as he found himself remembering how alone he’d felt, how confused. God, how could he _not_ have seen what was happening?

“I guess.... somehow, everything got so twisted up in my head, and I—I didn’t know what to think, really. Because sometimes he’d be... he’d act like the perfect boyfriend, and then it was like, he’d just—switch. It was... little things, mostly. But I guess it always just _—_ made me feel like _..._ like I wasn't good enough, or something. He'd... talk down to me, make me feel like I was stupid if I got something wrong, make all these little... comments, about how I looked, saying that I was too skinny, that I should work out more, put on weight—”

Caspar made a choked noise. “Joe, I—what I said last night, I—I didn’t mean—”

Joe shook his head. “It’s fine, Caspar, don’t worry about it.”

“No, but... Joe, you don’t—I didn’t... I was just worried about you.”

“That’s what Matt always said, too.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized just how that sounded, saw Caspar’s stricken expression. “No, I—” he said, hurriedly, “sorry, I—I didn’t mean it like that. He just... he used it as an excuse, to say things like that. That he was worried about my health, or whatever. It was such bullshit. I mean, I think I went to the gym more then than I do now. But I know that's not what you were doing."

“Okay. Okay... good. Because I wasn’t... I would never—I mean, god, I don’t even _think_ that—”

“I know, Caspar,” Joe said. “It’s alright, really.”

Caspar let out a breath. “Sorry. I... I didn’t mean to interrupt. Carry on,” he added, “please.”

Joe bit his lip. “I... I don’t have to—” After all, they’d covered most of the main points, hadn’t they? Maybe they didn’t have get into... all the other stuff.

“No,” Caspar said, “no, I—Joe, I want to know.”

“I... okay.” Joe sighed. He drew his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them, found his gaze drifting back to the wall in front of him. He found himself missing, ridiculously, that stupid watercolor in Dr. Peters’ office. 

He took a deep breath. He was pretty sure Caspar wasn’t going to like this next part. “The... the other thing is that, uh. He wanted to do things, like, uh, sexual stuff, that I didn’t... I wasn’t really into.”

“Like... what?” Caspar’s voice sounded strained, like he was forcing the words out. Unable to resist any longer, Joe looked back at him. And felt an intense, painful surge of guilt, because he didn’t think he’d ever seen Caspar look so unhappy. Joe’s eyes drifted down to where he had had one hand twisted in the bedsheets, slowly clenching and unclenching his fist.

He mentally kicked himself. He’d been so worried about how telling Caspar all of this would affect _him_ , he hadn’t stopped to think about how much it might upset Caspar to hear it.

He paused, wondering if he should, maybe, leave some of this out.

But Caspar was looking at him, “Joe,” he said, quietly, “please. Tell me.”

“It’s not like... he didn’t force me, or anything." And, well... that _was_ true. He’d agreed to everything. Things hadn’t exactly been going great with Matt at the time, and he hadn’t wanted to make it worse.

Looking back, he’d come to the uncomfortable realization that Matt had probably been completely aware of that. Had known that Joe would have said yes to almost anything he’d asked.

“Joe...” Caspar said. “What... what kind of things?” His tone made Joe realize his silence was probably making it worse.

“It was nothing, like... really extreme,” he continued, quickly. “He wanted to be, um. Rough. I mean, not enough to really hurt. And, like... uh—using restraints, stuff like that. I know it’s a thing for some people. But I didn’t... I didn’t think I’d be into it. I tried. And it wasn’t—it wasn’t that bad, the first time. But then, he kept wanting to... go further. And I just... I didn’t—I wasn’t comfortable with it. I mean, you—you kind of have to trust the other person, with things like that. And I... I didn’t. So, eventually, I told him I wanted to stop.”

He hesitated, hoping Caspar wasn’t going to ask him to be more specific than that. Because as much as he wanted to be honest, he didn’t think Caspar knowing every little detail would really help anything.

“Joe...” he glanced back to see Caspar looking at him anxiously. “Have we... I mean, before—did we ever do anything you... that you weren’t—”

“No,” Joe said, shaking his head, firmly. “No. No, never, Caspar.”

“Because you know.... you know could tell me if—”

“We didn’t. I promise. It’s... different, with you. You’ve never made me feel like I... like I had to do anything I didn’t want to.”

He realized his mistake when he watched Caspar mouthing _had to_ to himself. Joe winced at his expression. Shit.

“Caspar...” he tried to think of something, anything he could say, that would stop Caspar looking like that. “I...”

“I’m sorry,” Caspar said, suddenly, and Joe blinked in surprise. “I keep interrupting you—I... I told myself I wasn’t going to do that.”

“It’s... it’s alright. I guess this isn’t... it's not easy to hear.”

He couldn’t quite read Caspar’s expression, but he shook his head, just a slight movement. “No,” he said, softly. “But I’m sure it’s harder to talk about.” Joe noticed they’d shifted closer together, at some point, wasn’t sure if it was him who’d moved, or Caspar.

He shifted, tucking one leg underneath him. "I just...." he looked down, tracing a finger along the edge of the sheet, "I know it's hard to understand, but I did love him. And I didn't see back then, that it wasn’t because of _me_ , the way he was acting. I... I guess I was afraid, deep down, that it was. I was so scared that he was going to leave. It sounds ridiculous now. _I_ should have been the one leaving. God, I... I was such an idiot.” Caspar made a noise in the back of his throat, in what Joe guessed was disagreement. "Yeah... yeah, I know," he said, quietly, "it's... well, it's easy to say that now. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, I guess." 

Caspar let out a low sound, a half laugh, half sigh. "Yeah," he said, "it really is."

They slipped into silence, and Joe found himself wondering again what Caspar was thinking. When he spoke, though, his tone was even, neutral. "So... you said, before—you told me he cheated on you.”

“Oh,” Joe said. “Yeah. Yeah, that... well, I guess it started around that time, actually. I never really found out all the details.”

“You said one of his friends told you?”

Joe nodded. “Yeah. It was this girl, Anna—I guess she was one of my friends, too, by that point. I don’t think she ever really knew about all the... stuff that happened between us, anyway. But she knew about that. Actually... it was kind of like everyone did, at that point. He hadn’t even tried to keep it a secret. It was almost like he wanted me to find out. Like... like he wanted to hurt me. And when I confronted him about it, he tried to turn it around and say it was my fault. Because I wouldn’t give him what he wanted. I knew, even then, that was bullshit, and I told him that. And he.... well. He hit me.”

He heard Caspar suck in a sharp breath.

“It wasn’t... uh, it wasn’t the first time that'd happened, actually. There were... a few times before.” He felt his chest tighten. “That’s why... that day, when you...”

“I know,” Caspar said, quietly.

“It... it wasn’t about you,” Joe said. “I... I never thought you’d do that. It just... it happened so quickly... for a second, I—”

“Joe, it’s okay, you don’t need to explain.”

Joe exhaled, shakily. This part was one of the things he’d always kept to himself—he’d never told any of his friends. Though they’d probably suspected, he didn’t think any of them realized how many times it had happened. How many times he’d _let_ it happen.

“It’s just... all that time, even through everything else, I thought—” he made a choked sound, a bitter excuse for a laugh, “I actually thought that he loved me. But when I found out about he’d cheated on me, and the way... the way he reacted. He wasn’t even sorry. And I... I knew then, that I had to end it. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to do it, in person, though. Or—or at all. So I just ignored him at first. It was about a week before I finally picked up one of his calls. And he... he kept pleading with me to change my mind, and when that had no effect, he got nasty, said all these horrible things. That kind of made it easier to tell myself I’d done the right thing. But I... I think the worst part was I still missed him. Even after all of that. I don’t think I even really loved him, in the end. I thought I did, but... I think I loved the person I thought he was. Or, or wanted him to be. But he wasn’t that person. It just... took me a long time to see that.”

Joe let out a breath. His throat felt dry, like he’d been talking for hours. He had to stop.

And that was it, wasn’t it? He’d... he’d told Caspar everything. All of it. Every single, ugly truth. All the things that, not that long ago, he’d tried so desperately to avoid even thinking about.

There was nowhere left to hide. He felt exposed, uncomfortably so, as though every insecurity, every weak spot was right there, out in the open, for Caspar to see.

But at the same time, he felt a strange sense of relief, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. One he’d been carrying for a long time.

He bit his lip, glancing at Caspar. “What...” trying not to let how anxious he felt color his tone, he asked, “what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking... I’m thinking that I’m _really_ fucking glad I punched that asshole last night,” Caspar said. Joe didn’t think he’d ever heard him sound so angry before. Caspar generally didn’t get angry, as a rule. “And I really want to do it again.”

Joe wasn’t really sure what to say to that. It wasn’t that he thought Matt didn’t deserve it, but the last thing Joe wanted was anybody getting into a fight with him. Least of all Caspar.

He watched Caspar’s face, watched as the anger faded, and his expression softened. “God, Joe, just... come here? Please.”

He moved to close the distance between them, and Caspar reached out, arms wrapping around him. He was so warm, and Joe shivered a little—he hadn't realized until then how cold it was in the room. Caspar pulled him closer, and Joe let himself relax into it, closing his eyes. He wondered if Caspar could feel how fast his heart was beating. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, voice muffled against Caspar's shoulder, “I... I should have told you before.”

He felt Caspar shake his head. “No,” he said, “no, baby, it’s okay. You don’t need to apologize.”

Joe drew back a little, looking at him. And he felt something his chest loosen, because Caspar didn’t look mad, or disgusted. There wasn’t a trace of judgment in his expression. And Joe abruptly felt like shit for expecting the worst of him, yet again.

“Still, I... I should have told you. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Caspar shook his head again. “Joe, please, that’s not—it’s so not important right now. It doesn’t matter.”

Joe stared at him. “How can you say it doesn’t matter? I—god, I fucked everything up between us because of... because of it.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t your fault,” Caspar insisted, stubbornly.

Joe made a frustrated noise. “It was, though. I shut you out. I—I didn’t trust you, even though you never gave me a reason not to. I...” he added, quietly, voice cracking slightly on the words, “I was lying before, because I, I still d-don’t, I can’t, somehow, even though you’ve done everything right, and I, god, I still _can’t_ —” He blinked, hard. Fuck, why was he getting so upset?

“Joe,” Caspar said, voice urgent now, “hey, stop, look at me.” Joe looked at him, saw the worry, the sadness, in Caspar’s eyes and felt like he’d failed again. But there was something else there, too, an undercurrent of absolute, utter sincerity that made it impossible to look away. “It’s okay. Really, it’s okay.”

“It’s not, though,” Joe whispered, helplessly, “I... I hurt you.” Caspar opened his mouth, but Joe cut him off. “And don’t lie say and that’s not true, because it is.” _I’m still hurting you now._

Caspar looked at him for a moment. Then he sighed. “Alright, yeah. I was hurt. But I... it was because I thought you didn’t—that you didn’t feel the same way about me as I—”

“I _do_ ,” Joe said, fiercely. Because if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that.

Caspar’s eyes softened. “I know,” he said. “And I also know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“But I still _did_. Caspar, you can’t... you can’t just forgive me for everything.”

“I _can_ ,” Caspar said, “and besides, you weren’t the only one. I messed up, too. I pushed you to talk to me when you weren’t ready, I—I got so frustrated with you, and I shouldn’t have. God, if I’d—if I’d just stopped to think, to really _think_ about why you wouldn’t tell me—” 

“You’re not a mind reader. How were you supposed to know?”

“So... do you forgive me?” Caspar asked.

“Well, yeah...” Joe said, beginning to realize where this was going, but not able to lie.

“So you can forgive me, but I can’t forgive you? How does that work, exactly?”

“I...” Joe said, “I guess it doesn’t,” he finally admitted, reluctantly.

“No, it doesn’t,” Caspar said, but his voice was gentle.

“Still,” Joe said, chewing his lip, “I shouldn’t have lied to you. And I’m sorr—”

Caspar made a low noise. “Joe, seriously, stop. It’s like—like you _want_ me to get angry with you.”

Joe pressed his lips together. “Of course I don’t want that.”

Caspar tilted his head to one side, regarding Joe with a too perceptive gaze. “No,” he said, “but you’re... you’re waiting for it?” His eyes scanned Joe’s face, and Joe didn’t know what he saw there, but nodded, almost imperceptibly, to himself. “Is that it?”

Joe looked away, feeling strangely exposed, like Caspar would be able to read his thoughts just by looking at him. Hell, it kind of felt like that’s what he was doing already.

“Joe...” Caspar’s voice had gotten even softer. He paused, then. “Hey—don’t.” Joe felt the warmth of Caspar’s hand covering his. He hadn’t even realized until then he’d been digging his nails into his thigh, with enough pressure that he could feel the dull ache in his fingers when Caspar took his hand, lacing their fingers together. He looked down at Caspar’s hand in his, thumb stroking gently across the back. “Look, I... I don’t want to push you, but I need you to understand that the way I feel about you, it’s not—” He paused, shaking his head, frustrated. “Fuck, I’m not—I’m not good at this, I’m not good with words—”

“I don’t know about that,” Joe said, feeling a small smile tugging at his lips. "I think you're pretty good." Because, well... Caspar may not have been the world’s most eloquent speaker, but he never seemed to have any trouble getting his point across. Maybe it was just that he said what he meant, where other people could dance around the point, around what they were really trying to say, until the meaning was unclear, blurred, even lost.

It was something Joe had always been a little (or, a lot) envious of.

Caspar smiled back, but it looked a little sad. “If that was true, you’d never have thought what you did.”

Joe shook his head. “That wasn’t your fault. That was all me. I—”

“Joe, I swear to god, if you try to apologize again—” Joe’s mouth snapped closed. He wasn’t sure, honestly, if that’s what he’d been about to do, but, well—it was possible another apology might’ve slipped out. “I just... I need you to know that I’m in this, okay?” Caspar continued, “I’m not gonna change my mind. I nearly lost you once, and I—god, I don’t want to ever have to go through that again.”

It was like hearing his own thoughts echoed back to him. And Joe—Joe couldn’t do anything then but kiss him then, a little desperately, hands reaching up to frame Caspar’s face. Caspar’s arms slid around his waist, returning the kiss with equal intensity. He tugged Joe into his lap, warm hands slipping under his sweatshirt, stroking across his back. They overbalanced and fell backwards, Caspar’s back hitting the sheets, knocking the breath out of him for a moment.

“Sorry,” Joe mumbled against his mouth.

“S’okay,” Caspar murmured, their lips grazing. He felt Caspar’s palm sliding across his cheek, his mouth finding Joe’s again, the kiss gentler now, so sweet it made Joe’s chest ache.

Finally, he broke away to catch his breath, burying his face in Caspar’s shoulder, panting a little, feeling Caspar’s chest rise and fall as he did the same. One hand stroked up and down Joe’s back, slowly, before settling around his waist again.

“Don’t wanna lose you either,” Joe mumbled, the words half muffled.

“That’s not gonna happen,” he said, firmly. Joe felt a warm hand cupping his jaw, tilting his chin upwards. “I promise, okay?”

Joe just nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak. Caspar leant down, brushing their lips together lightly. Joe followed before he could move away, propping himself up a little on Caspar’s chest to kiss him again. Caspar’s arm tightened around his waist, gently rolling them so he was on top.

Finally, Caspar drew back, looking down at him. His eyes traveled over Joe’s face, as if he was trying to memorize every tiny detail. “God, you’re just...” he trailed off, pressing a kiss to Joe’s mouth again, to his cheek, the tip of his nose. “You’re kind of perfect, you know?”

Joe felt his breath hitch a little. “No-one’s perfect, Caspar."

“Maybe not,” Caspar conceded, “but, well... you are, to me.”

“God, you’re ridiculous,” Joe said, biting his lip, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face.

Caspar shrugged. “It’s just the truth. I mean,” he continued, expression turning earnest, “you’re smart, funny, _ridiculously_ talented, not to mention fucking _gorgeous_ —”

Joe felt his cheeks growing hot. “Caspar, stop, you don’t have to—”

“No, Joe, just—listen to me, okay? I... god, I love every single thing about you. I mean, I don’t know if you noticed—I guess maybe you didn’t—but I’ve kinda been ridiculously gone for you pretty much from the moment we met. And I didn’t even realize then—I didn’t even know what an amazing person you are. And I just..." he stopped, throat working. "God, I just... I hate him so much," he said, fiercely, "I hate that he ever made you think, even for a _second_ , that wasn't true, or—or that you weren't good enough for him—when it was the exact fucking _opposite_ , and I bet you he knew it. He was lucky you even looked _twice_ at him. And so am I." 

Joe drew in a shaky breath. Embarrassingly, he felt tears spring to his eyes. He blinked, hard, wishing he could hide his face—but Caspar was right there. There was nowhere to go.

Caspar reached up, carefully brushing away a tear that had spilled over. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I just... I always thought, before, that you knew, that I was being so obvious. But I... I guess you didn’t. So now you do.”

“I...” Joe started, wincing at how unsteady his voice sounded, “it’s fine, I’m okay. I just...” He trailed off, unsure of what he was trying to say. _I’m such a pathetic mess that a few compliments literally made me cry?_ No. Not a good idea.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Caspar said, softly. “Hey. Look at me.”

Joe met his gaze. And there was so much love there, it was a little overwhelming. Not because he didn’t feel it too, feel the same for Caspar, but because... well, he’d spent so long telling himself that Caspar could never feel that way about him.

It was all he’d ever wanted from Matt, and somewhere along the line—he didn’t even know when—he’d started to believe that maybe... maybe he didn’t deserve it.

And he’d believed that for so long, that even now, it still sometimes felt a little too much like the truth.

But it wasn’t, was it?

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I... I am, though. Sort of. Getting there.” Caspar’s mouth was turned down at the corners. He looked sad, and Joe hated it. He reached up, stroking Caspar’s cheek. Caspar leaned into the touch, covering Joe’s hand with his. “I... well, I’ve been seeing a therapist, actually. It’s... helped. It’s just... it’s—uh, it’s still hard, I guess. Talking about it. I’ve never... some of it. Um, most of it, I’ve never told anyone but her.”

Caspar’s eyes widened a little. “You... you haven’t?”

Joe shook his head. “No. But you... you deserved to know. I just—I want things to be different, this time. I don’t want to shut you out. Or—or push you away.”

Caspar turned his head, pressing a kiss to Joe’s palm. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’m kind of...” his expression turned hopeful, a little shy, “kinda planning on sticking around for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Oh.” Joe bit his lip. “Well, that, uh... that might be a while.”

He watched as Caspar’s face lit up, and he smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. Joe couldn’t help but smile back. “I hope so.” They slipped into silence for a few moments. Then Caspar tilted his head. “So...” he said, “take two?”

“Yeah,” Joe said, laughing a little, “take two.”

Caspar grinned. “Good,” he said. “And this time, we’re in it together, okay? Whatever happens—just promise me, we’ll figure it out together.” He still had that ridiculously earnest, hopeful expression on his face—and honestly, Joe thought that he’d pretty much agree to anything, with Caspar looking at him like that.

But this... well, this was a no brainer.

He nodded. “I promise. Together.”


End file.
